


The Governess

by the_artful_scribbler



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, F/M, Historical Romance, Mystery, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2018-10-25 18:24:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10769850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_artful_scribbler/pseuds/the_artful_scribbler
Summary: Plain, obscure, muggleborn orphan Hermione Granger leaves her sheltered home to become Governess for a wealthy wizarding family, and finds herself in house full of long memories and dark secrets, drawn to its enigmatic Master as a moth to flame. Historical romance AU Lumione





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Hello again, lovely Lumione readers! This story is going to be an AU Lumione historical romance, set around the 1850s. It will have mature themes, however I'm not intending to go tooooo dark with this (well, maybe just a little!) I'm giving it an M rating just to be on the safe side.  
> It is essentially a crossover fic, however there isn't one single book with which I've crossed the HP world, more a collection of my favourite historic-romance novels including Jane Eyre, Rebecca, Mistress of Mellyn, The Shivering Sands, and a smattering of other stories about resourceful young ladies thrown by fate into the path of magnetic older men with decidedly shady pasts. If that sounds like something you wouldn't like, then please read no further.  
> A couple of notes: I have decided to take Malfoy Manor out of Wiltshire and transplant it onto the Cornish coast, to a fictional seaside village called 'Tredraconis'. I just really wanted to have a stormy coastal backdrop to suit the tone of the story. The characters will be a mix of canonical and O.C, and I may very well play around with ages and relationships etc. Hermione may seem a little ooc to start with, however it is my intention to have her grow more into 'herself' as the story progresses.  
> Okay, enough prattling. I hope you enjoy the first chapter! Let me know how you feel about it, I'd love to hear your thoughts!  
> Xox artful

...

The first time I ever laid eyes on Lord Malfoy, a strange feeling crossed over me, a kind of stirring in my soul which caused me to shiver, as if (as Aunt Agna would have said) "a grey griffin had flown over the place of my grave."

At the time I supposed that feeling to be simply dislike—for, although he appeared to be a very handsome man, his expression was as haughty and disdainful as his manner was cold and supercilious.

Now, so many years later, I look back on that moment and wonder if it was something far deeper and more profound, a kind of premonition, perhaps, of the fateful path down which we were both to travel.

But at that time, I was not a fanciful person, given to such romantic notions as fate and destiny. My Aunt—or rather, the elderly witch who had taken me out of the Orphanage For Muggleborn Children—had made quite certain of that.

"You are a muggleborn witch and a plain one at that," she often told me, in her forthright manner. "The best you can hope for is a quiet life of honest service. You're not cut out for marriage, my dear, but that needn't concern you...after all, it never concerned _me_."

"Yes, Aunt," I would murmur quietly, turning away so she wouldn't see the hurt in my eyes.

I was aware her comments were not cruelly meant—she didn't intend to wound me, but to _prepare_ me. Life had not been overly kind to her, and though she never admitted it to me, I believed she must have had her heart broken by a wizard in her youth. Bitterness and loneliness had left her mistrustful of the world outside her own little cottage, and she brought me up in the long shadow of her manifold fears. 

...If only she had known how often I stood before the cracked old mirror standing among the clutter in the attic, secret tears sliding down my cheeks as I despairingly surveyed my insignificant figure, my unruly tangle of brown curls, the unfeminine angles of my face...maybe she would have taken a little pity on me. Or perhaps, more likely, she would have scolded me for dwelling on my outward deficiencies instead of improving my inward qualities.—And she would have been quite right in doing so. In many ways it would have been crueller to fill my head with unrealistic hopes and dreams. Because a plain, provincial muggleborn witch would only end up paying for such dreams with bitter pangs of disappointment.

And so she taught me only what she felt necessary to maintain this modest destiny, the basic housekeeping spells, the embroidery and mending charms which would earn my keep, and potion-brewing techniques used for medicinal purposes only.

But for all her sensible advice to keep my expectations in check, she could not subdue my spirit completely. There was a rebellious streak in me, which whispered to me at night-time...telling me that I was meant for better things than to gradually turn into a replica of my spinster 'Aunt'; that there was surely more to life than performing endless, fiddly stitching charms on the piles of torn dresses and worn clothes which arrived in our front parlour each morning...

Just how I was going to escape that depressing future was something of a mystery.

By the age of eighteen my life seemed firmly entrenched in the course it would undeviatingly follow to the end of my days. Little, obscure, muggleborn orphan, Hermione Jean Granger, with her shabby twice-turned robes and second-hand wand, brought up by her adoptive Aunt to be, above anything else, _useful_. A head crammed with useful spells. A face and figure as undecorative as it was possible to be, without being positively ugly.

How could I be anything _but_ useful? I had no access to the books and schools which "legitimate" mages had. I, as a muggleborn, and a female one at that, was considered by the community as only a little better than a house-elf. The more kindly witches of the magical gentry pitied "my sort" and raised subscriptions and held charitable events to aid the poorest of us. Less wealthy but altruistic minded people like my Aunt took a more hands-on approach, for which I knew I ought to be undyingly grateful.—And I _was_ grateful, though I heartily wished she had not taken her duty of _"bringing them up to understand their place"_ quite so literally.

In darker moments, I wondered why I had been born at all. What could I do that couldn't be fulfilled, better and more willingly, by one of those creature-servants which the wealthy wizards of the land employed in their service?

What good was being a witch, when your world was so decidedly void of all _magic?_

…

When the long-wished-for change did come, it was swift and frightening, like a turning current suddenly bearing me away out into choppy, deep waters.

My Aunt Agna contracted a fatal strain of Dragon Pox and died within a few hours of the symptoms manifesting.

For the second time in my life I was left utterly alone in the world. My Aunt's extreme reclusiveness meant that I knew no-one in our little magical enclave of Turningstone better than to say, "Good Day." The only shop I ever frequented was the local haberdashery, where my Aunt would send me to buy on account sundry supplies, with strict instruction to speak with no-one but the haberdasher and his wife, neither of whom were figures to inspire friendly relations.

I had no confidants, no friends, no family, and no place in society. All I had to my name was a pitifully small hoard of hard-earned knuts and sickles, and a single Galleon which my Aunt bequeathed me on her deathbed, along with a character reference and a letter she had written at some earlier date.

The letter was, typically of her, brusque but kind, explaining that her small estate was entailed to a distant cousin, but that she doubted not he would allow me to continue living there until I had found myself a satisfactory situation. 

 _"...I leave you,"_ her letter concluded, _"well satisfied I have done my duty to society by you. You are well versed in those crafts which will always earn you a keep, and I believe I have instilled in your heart a strong sense of self-respectability and practicality. I have been well rewarded for my efforts in having secured to me, in my twilight years, a devoted companion and a grateful beneficiary, who has been like the daughter I was never blessed with._

_Look no higher than your own good head, and you will be happy._

_Agna Gerdhart"_

Tears blinded my eyes as I read and re-read those words she had never deigned to speak during her lifetime.  _"Like the daughter I was never blessed with..."_ I had never dared aspire to consider her as a mother, although she was the closest I had to one.

As for her final, parting token of advice, I accepted it as a compliment to my common sense, and ignored the aspersions to my lowly birth. I might well "look no higher than my own good head", but who was to say I could not climb a mountain to take my view?

…

On the same day my Aunt Agna was buried, I received an owl from the usurping cousin. I had, his note coldly informed me, two weeks in which to find myself a new place, before I would be evicted out onto the cold, cobbled streets of Turningstone. I was not surprised by this mean-spiritedness. I imagined he saw me as nothing more than a servant whose duties were no longer required.

I knew that my Galleon might purchase me about three month's board and food at the local inn, but after that? The future loomed dark and dangerous, if I did not secure employment as soon as I could. 

The very next morning I walked down to the Turningstone high street, clutching my purse with its few copper and silver coins, and my single, precious Galleon. Arriving at the village Postal-Office, I purchased a copy of _'The Daily Prophetical'_ , as well as the local weekly newspaper, _'The Turningstone Times'_.

Alas, there were far more advertisements asking for work than offering it, and I couldn't see a single place for a seamstress in any of the columns entitled _'Situations Vacant'_.

Each morning I bought and scoured through the _'Prophetical_ ', becoming steadily more terrified that soon I was going to become one of the poverty-stricken unfortunates who the gentrified witches raised their funds to help.

Every vacant position required proof of prior experience or qualifications, or a thorough knowledge of specialized spell-work I had never even heard of. Many advertisements stated, _"Wizards Need Only Apply"_ , whilst those particularizing witches almost always stipulated, _"A School Education Essential"_ or, _"Knowledge of All The Feminine Crafts & Modern Languages Desired"_.

The few jobs _"Suited To Muggle-borns or The Illiterate"_ , were for badly-paid, dangerous work, such as industrial cleaning and potion-testing. There was also a handful of suspiciously worded advertisements detailing, _"Well-Paid Opportunities In London For Young & Attractive Witches, Female Squibs & Muggleborns"_—which I skipped over with a blush, recalling my Aunt's voice, uncharacteristically hushed, speaking about "fallen witches" who had, out of desperation or moral corruption, spurned respectable poverty for a more luxurious but ignominious and degrading existence, about which she was never specific. 

As my anxiety grew, so did my resentment and anger at my Aunt's lack of foresight in limiting my education so severely. How could I continue as a seamstress when I had not a roof under which to work? How could I pay for my own roof, if I had no money? I felt trapped and incapacitated by my own ignorance, the walls of impending destitution closing in on me from every side.

Seven days after that warning owl, I went again to the Postal-Office with the intention of placing my own advertisement in the newspaper, although it was not cheap to do so. I had already written out the card in careful, plain script. _"A muggle-born witch, raised respectably, adept in all household crafts & much experienced in seamstress spells, desires employment for modest remuneration. Excellent character reference available. Further enquiries to H J Granger, care of the Turningstone Postal-Office."_

I approached the counter, ready to hand over my card and pay for the advertisement (the Postal-Office being an agent for such), but hesitated when I noticed a smartly dressed middle-aged gentlewitch arriving a few seconds after me. In a reflexive acquiescence to her superiority, I moved aside with a curtsey, murmuring, "Please ma'am, go ahead of me."

The witch, a handsome, buxom woman with a glossy dark chignon, acknowledged my polite obeisance with a gracious nod, and stepped up to the counter.

"I should like to place an advertisement in tomorrow's Prophetical," she addressed the post-wizard, in a tone suggestive of someone well used to giving orders.

The portly fellow bowed obsequiously, and murmured, "I regret to inform madam that there is a queue. The earliest it will appear is tomorrow-fortnight."

"As it is an urgent matter," the witch smoothly replied, "I am willing to double the fee."

The post-wizard's eyes gleamed ruefully. "If it were in my power, nothing would prevent me from granting madam's request. Unfortunately, it is entirely out of my hands. ...But perhaps madam would consider placing an advertisement in the Turningstone Times in the meantime? The weekly issue is published tomorrow."

With a disapproving sigh, the witch nodded. "Very well. I will advertise in both. Take down the following."

Picking up his quill, the wizard took a piece of card and began to write down as she dictated.

"Urgently required, a nursery-witch or governess to take sole care of a young child. Knowledge of healing, defensive and care-related magic preferred. Live-in situation, board inclusive, salary based on experience. Enquiries to Madam Marsh of Malfoy Manor, Tredraconis, Cornwall."

A gasp escaped my lips. _Tredraconis, Malfoy Manor_ —these names were almost mythical to me, I had heard them reverenced by my Aunt, I had read about them in the various geographic and architectural journals she subscribed to, and the occasional newspaper article she allowed me to look at. Little though I knew of the world, even _I_ had heard of the Malfoys, the pre-eminent magical family in all of Cornwall.

Immediately my heart began to hammer wildly in my chest. I knew I had but seconds to summon the courage to speak up, but the very imperativeness of my doing so was causing my mouth to clam shut.

In a silent agony, I watched the gentlewitch pay for her advertisement and deposit the change in a green velvet coin-purse, then turn and walk to the door, which swung obligingly open on her approach. And then I watched her disappear out into the street.

Before I knew what I was doing I found myself dashing after her, crying aloud, "Please, ma'am! Please wait one moment!"

The lady stopped and turned surprised eyes on me, evidently wondering if she had forgotten something, and then, with a slight frown, she reached again for her purse, supposing I wanted to beg a coin of her.

With a mortified blush I plead her to put it away.

"No—thank you, I don't need money—I wish only to speak to you for a moment. If you would only oblige me by reading _this_." I passed her my own hand-written advertisement, which she hesitantly received, then inspected with a returning expression of surprise.

She looked me quickly up and down, taking in at a sharp glance my neat but severely-plain mourning clothes, and, no doubt my unprepossessing personal appearance. I fumbled in my skirt pocket and quickly handed her the character reference my Aunt had provided me.

I was relieved to see the witch's expression relax as she perused the document, a faint smile touching her lips.

"I knew Agnastacia as a young woman," she said, handing back the reference, "and lately learned of her sad demise. So... _you_ are the muggleborn child she took in to foster, these twenty years since?"

"I am," I replied, an audible tremble in my voice, partly because I had never heard my Aunt called by that name before, and partly because I was shaken by the knowledge that I was... _known._ That I had been spoken of and discussed by people—elegant people, of the magical gentry, from a glittering world so utterly removed from my own humble obscurity. 

"And so you happen to be seeking just such a situation as the one I am so anxious to fill! A happy coincidence, indeed!" She regarded me thoughtfully. "You have experience in healing and seamstressing, but what experience do you have with the care of young children?"

"None, ma'am," I answered truthfully, then, with a gulp of determination I added, "but I doubt not my capability to do so."

"Hmm!" was her brief response, but I sensed that my boldness had not harmed me in her opinion.

"I learn quickly," I pressed on, "and I'm not afraid of hard work."

"Indeed? Those are good qualities in a servant. ...What terms are you hoping to secure?"

"Any, ma'am, so long as I may have a bed to sleep in at night."

"I gather by that, that your current situation is precarious?"

I hated to seem desperate, but I could not quell the shudder in my voice as I admitted, "In one week I will have nowhere to call home." Then, with a burst of sudden emotion, I added, "If you'll only let me prove it, I will not let you down!"

She pursed her lips, as if considering something. Then she smiled. "Well, that will remain to be seen. Shake hands, Miss...Granger, isn't it?" she said, extending her gloved hand out to me. "For you have just entered into the service of Lord Malfoy."

Stammering out my thanks, I took her hand and curtseyed, almost unable to believe this sudden, lucky turn of events.

"How many days do you need to prepare to come to Tredraconis, Miss Granger? I should like you as soon as possible."

"I can start tomorrow, if it please your Ladyship," I said, rather too eagerly.

She gave a merry little laugh. "You are a quaint girl!" she declared, though quite without malice. "I am not the Lady of the Manor—that title belongs to one long departed, I'm afraid. I am only the housekeeper. You may address me as 'Mrs Marsh', or 'ma'am', if you prefer."

"Y-yes, Mrs Marsh," I stammered, confused at my blunder. "I can come tomorrow, if it please you, ma'am."

"It would please me very much," she replied, "but take some time to prepare. You may keep your mourning colours, but the Master likes his staff smartly dressed. Have you a silk evening gown? Ah, I see by your expression you do not. Have you money to purchase one? I can lend you what you require and take it from your first quarter's pay."

"No—no; I can afford one," I said, thinking of my precious golden Galleon, "er—that is, I can afford to buy the silk, and make it up myself."

She nodded curtly. "See that you use an elegant pattern, Miss Granger. You may be required to accompany the child in formal situations, and it would not do to look...out of place."

I nodded, blushing again at my all-too-obvious deficiencies.

Mrs Marsh pulled out a leather pocket book and produced from it a small calling-card. "Here is the address," she said. "You may send your luggage ahead, and Apparate outside the gate, which is open during daylight hours. Ask the porter to show you the servant's entrance. I shall expect you in a few days."

"Thank you," I murmured, unable to bring myself to admit that I did not know how to Apparate, my Aunt deeming it unladylike to travel _'in such violent fits and starts'_.

We both curtseyed. "Good day, Miss Granger. I am glad of our paths accidentally crossing, however unfortunate the circumstances which occasioned it. You have spared me much time and inconvenience I could ill afford."

"Good day, Mrs Marsh," I replied simply, unable to express my gratitude whilst hiding my great relief, afraid I might actually burst into tears.

Watching the gentlewitch gracefully cross the street and disappear into the milliner's, my body sagged against the Postal-Office wall, trembling violently, almost overwhelmed by so many tumultuous emotions. Finally, finally I would get my chance to live outside of the tiny box I had been shut in for my whole life. Finally, I would be able to test myself in a new line of work that didn't involve the relentless tedium of mending and making clothes...

This thought brought me back to my own clothing situation. Gathering my composure, I made my way to the haberdasher's, where I received from his wife a decidedly frosty reception. "Miss Granger, I suppose you are come to balance your Aunt's account?"

I stared at her, not quite understanding what she meant. "No, indeed...I have come to purchase some cloth," I said.

The woman's lips thinned. "I'm afraid you cannot buy anything until the account has been settled," she curtly replied.

"But...I...I had not thought it incumbent on me...surely you will receive reimbursement from her lawyers?"

"I should as soon trust a band of swindlers," she retorted. "Nay, the account must be settled now, in full."

Crestfallen, I reached for my purse. "How much is outstanding?" I asked her, hoping it might only be a few knuts.

Taking out a large ledger-book, the witch used her wand to flick through and find the page. "Nine sickles and four," she announced, turning the book around for me to see. 

With a regretful sigh, I sadly handed over the only Galleon I had ever beheld—let alone held—in my life, receiving in change seven sickles and 25 knuts.

I watched the witch scratch a large red mark through the ledger, and snap it shut with a puff of dust. "Now," she said, in a more civil tone. "How may I help you?"

I selected a length of quality black silk, and one of dark-grey bombazine, as well as some serviceable pieces of poplin in unobtrusive colours, for every day work. To these I added a quantity of brown merino with which to make a new robe. It was expensive, but I could not endure the notion of turning up at the gates of the famously splendid Malfoy Manor in my twice-turned, shabby hand-me-down.

As she cut and folded the required lengths, the haberdasher's wife, no longer able to contain her curiosity, asked me if I had gained a new position somewhere?

"Yes," I replied, with the first swell of pride I could ever recall experiencing. "I am going to be governess to a child at Malfoy Manor, in Tredraconis."

"You don't say!" exclaimed the witch, clearly surprised and impressed by this piece of news. Then snidely she added, "That is a fortunate turn of events, for the likes of one such as _you_." I understood perfectly her insinuations, and flushed with mortified anger. 

"Indeed, I consider myself fortunate," I replied quietly, not wishing to rise to her ungenerous sting.

For some minutes she continued with her cutting, then with a sly glance at me, she said, "They say the young Master Malfoy is a wild creature with rowdy friends and a great taste for London dissipations."

"I know nothing of it," I said, divided between longing to hear more and not wanting to engage in lowly gossip.

"Aye, and his father, Lord Lucius, is a fierce and vindictive man; a powerful wizard with extensive knowledge of the Dark Arts..." her voice lowered to a conspiratorial murmur. "They say his wife was killed by his cruel treatment, though of course it was all covered up and blamed on her frailty." 

Becoming increasingly annoyed by her apparent desire to cause me discomfiture, I deigned not to reply, merely waiting for her to finish her work, then handing over the required payment. 

Gathering the three paper-wrapped parcels under my arm, I curtseyed with a brief, "Good day." 

"Good day, miss," replied the witch, adding, "I hope for you own sake that you will heed my warning and seek immediately for a new situation."

"Thank you," I said coldly, "but I do not intend to let idle slander frighten me out of a respectable position." 

I had the satisfaction of seeing a flush spread over the rude witch's face before I turned my back on her and left the haberdashery for (I hoped) the very last time. Never before had I dared to so speak so saucily to anyone in my life, and the sensation it occasioned was both novel and rather pleasant. 

When I arrived back at the house, I spread out the lengths of soft fabric upon the table, guiltily thinking that Aunt Agna would never have approved of such extravagance. And I very much feared that my becoming a governess for a wealthy wizarding family would certainly fall under her definition of _'looking higher than my own good head.'_

That night I lay awake for many hours, unable to calm the wild beating of my heart as I tried to picture Malfoy Manor and the coastal countryside of Tredraconis (for I had never seen the sea). I wondered if my little charge were a boy or girl, and exactly to whom in the household they belonged...the wild and rowdy son, perhaps?

And naturally my thoughts turned time and again to the man who was to become my master, this "Lord Lucius". I wondered if there were really any truth in the dreadful gossip, that he dabbled with Dark magic, that he had killed his wife with cruelty...a vision arose in my head, of a man twisted-faced and hunch-backed, whispering evil incantations as he stirred a cauldron roiling with some potent, forbidden concoction...

I shivered and drew my blankets more tightly around me. Although I hated to credit such vile rumours, I couldn't help but feel a little nervous of how such a man might treat his paid subordinates...would he be a fair employer, or an exacting autocrat? 

 _Most likely,_ I told myself, _he won't even notice the presence of a lowly and obscure muggleborn governess like yourself._

I was rather comforted by this thought, and sleep came to me at last.

…


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Thanks for the kudos and comments, they're really encouraging for a first chapter! I'm just beyond happy that I'm not the only one who loves gothic-romance, ships Lumione, and wants to smoosh them together. I mean, it makes sense, right?! :D (And for those of you anxious about Belonging, please don't be! The update is coming, I promise.)
> 
> Okay, now for a couple of AU notes. For the purpose of this story, I have implemented the following changes:  
> Floo: the Floo network is divided into two channels, one "private" and one "public." Only the houses of wealthy families and reputable establishments are connected through the private system. Everyone else must pay a small fee to use the public Floo, accessed in communal places such as an inn or tearoom. Small towns might only have one or two public Floos, whilst bigger cities have them dotted throughout the boroughs.  
> Brooms: although some witches use broomsticks, it is considered a rather unfeminine and dangerous practice. Those who do tend to ride side-saddle and use a specially charmed variety of "Lady's Broom" that limits speed and height.  
> There's bound to be other AU things which will crop up, but I'll address them before each relevant chapter.  
> Hope you enjoy this next installment and PLEASE let me know your thoughts!

...

The next morning I received another letter, this one delivered by a majestic Eagle Owl bearing a scroll stamped with a black seal and tied with green velvet ribbon.

How very different the warm fluttering sensation in my breast upon unravelling it, than the icy despair occasioned by the curt missive from my Aunt's cousin! With what gladness and excitement did I peruse the handsomely-drawn Indenture Retainer, written in exquisite calligraphy upon costly vellum! ...And with what fascination did I trace my trembling fingers over the splendid Malfoy coat-of-arms letterhead: a silver 'M' emblazoned across a quarterly field of black and green, supported by strange winged creatures—serpents, perhaps, or maybe dragons. Winding across the shield's base was a silver ribbon bearing the motto,  _'_ _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper',_ which my smattering of rudimentary Latin translated to something like,"the righteous always win."

The document was written duplicately, side by side, with the terms of service I was to be offered and a place for my signature below each part. Mrs. Marsh had already undersigned both pieces, next to which was written,  _"On behalf of Lord Malfoy, Malfoy Manor, Tredraconis."_

The terms were, to my mind, quite reasonable—generous, even; considering my inexperience and blood status. Fifteen sickles per quarter annum, food and board included, with one day off each week. Duties to include the care of a child or children, including preparatory-level schooling and disciplining where required. Some light housework, such as mending torn clothes and fixing broken items.

I was to undergo a trial period of six weeks, and if all was to be found satisfactory to both parties, the contract would becoming mutually binding for the remaining year's duration.

My pulse flurried within me as I took up my quill and neatly signed my name twice, beneath each identical document, observing how careful and restrained my signature looked beside the dashing confident marks made by Mrs. Marsh.

No sooner had the ink dried than immediately a zig-zagging line appeared down the middle, and the vellum split and detached, one half refurling, and slipping back into the noose of velvet ribbon, which the owl silently swooped down from its perch on the windowsill to bear away.

The remaining half of the document was, I supposed, mine to keep.

I gazed at it for some time, unable to quite shake the notion that I must be in some kind of dream from which I would surely awake any moment. Only the chiming of the mantle clock brought me out of my dazed state, reminding me that I still had much to do before this dream could become reality.

Folding the paper carefully up, I put it in my pocket book for safe keeping, and set to work on making my new clothes.

It took me just two days to complete four dresses and a robe. Never before had my wand flown with such dexterity and efficiency, nor my tongue incanted the complicated threading and stitching spells with such enthusiasm, and even enjoyment.

Knowing that my future no longer depended on a life-sentence of laborious seamstressing, I felt something of a thrill as I put together the garments that were to represent my escape from that fate.

I made up the poplin dresses to a plain pattern with wide pagoda sleeves that could be rolled up to suit the more physical demands of the nursery room. Bearing in mind Mrs. Marsh's comment that "the Master likes his staff smartly dressed," I added some black piping and trim, and a black lace collar to each, which I could change to white once a suitable period of mourning had passed.

The dark-grey bombazine, which was to be my Sunday dress, I created to a more fitted and embellished design, with ruffle details around the cuffs and high neckline, and vertical ruching on the bodice.

The most difficult garment was the black silk evening gown—not because I couldn't make finery, but because I simply couldn't imagine  _myself_  in anything fine. I wasted several hours searching through my Aunt's huge catalogue of patterns to find something suitably "elegant", that would not make me feel as if were borrowing a costume to play a round of the drawing-room game  _Charades_.

Eventually I decided upon a prettily-shaped dress with a wide neckline, a dropped, pointed waist, and a tiered bell skirt. An addition of a Bertha-collar of black lace (which took four painstaking hours to create) provided a demure cover for the low neckline, whilst giving the illusion of my having a little more feminine shapeliness to my sparely-padded frame.

Inspecting the finished effect in the mirror of my Aunt's bedroom, I was pleasantly surprised. I did not look quite like... _me_. The girl in the reflection was no prettier, taller or more substantial, but neither was she the shabby, mousy little creature that haunted the upstairs attic. My eyes seemed somehow changed, more expressive and luminous, and there was something different in my overall bearing and deportment...I realised that it had only partly to do with the dress, and as much to do with the newfound sense of hope and excitement that had lit like a lamp inside me, for the unknown future stretching out before me in a direction I had never dared imagine possible...

But my initial elation dimmed as I wondered if I really would have to attend a "formal situation" such as Mrs. Marsh had hinted at...and, with a shiver of sudden anxiety, I found myself fervently hoping not. The idea of appearing in such grand society was, frankly, frightening. What had I to do with fashionable people and elegant soirees? I had never so much as attended a morning tea, and my knowledge of the etiquette of polite society was purely theoretical.

A little subdued, I took off the silk and donned instead one of the plain poplins. Immediately I felt much less elegant, but much more myself.

…

Closely situated to the muggle town of Bodmin, and just south of the famous moors of the same name, Turningstone was one of the larger magical enclaves of the south-western provinces. It prided itself, above all things, on its respectability and propriety, and seemed utterly bent upon shaking off the taint of barbarity that it had inherited by belonging to the untamed wilds of Cornwall.

But for all its thorough respectability, Turningstone was still but a small village, with only two Common Floos, one in the hotel at the far end of town, the other situated inside the public tearooms—and it was to this latter one that I headed on a fine, crisp spring morning, my reticule clutched in one hand, and a small trunk levitating at my heels.

Shared between these two containers were the sum of all my worldly possessions.

My trunk contained very little: only my clothes and a few worn books whose pages I knew by rote, but to which I attached a certain sentimentality in their having been gifts from my Aunt—albeit such practical, no-nonsensical gifts as,  _"Every Witch's Guide To Household_ _Œconomy", "The Girls' Complete Book Of Sewing Spells"_ and,  _"Wellness Charms & Healing Potions For The Home."_

My reticule contained my purse, pocketbook, and a small, charm-extended box containing a dozen small vials of common potions and tinctures. Also carefully stowed inside was the most costly of all my belongings: a velvet sewing-kit stocked with an array of Ever-Sharp needles and pins, several reels of Endless-Thread in assorted colours and a self-actuating measuring tape—the whole set being a present for my eighteenth birthday, and the last I was ever to receive from my Aunt.

All else in the house now belonged to her cousin, and as such, to take anything away would be to be considered stealing—a crime punishable with a life sentence in prison, or even the dreaded "Dementor's kiss" that my Aunt had occasionally terrified me into obedience with as a young child.

Only slightly less terrifying was the wall of disapproving stares which met me as I pushed open the tearoom's glass-panelled doors and stepped into its warm, gaily-painted interior. The hum of lively conversation immediately dropped to a low buzz of speculative murmuring, and I knew that the haberdasher's wife had done her duty to the gossips of the town.

I could count the number of times I had used the Floo on one hand, always in the company of my Aunt, so it was with no small pang of trepidation that I now made my way towards the counter.

As I threaded through the tables, I caught the general gist of the whispering, and my imagination easily supplied the rest. ..." _That's her! Poor old Agna's charity-case muggleborn!" "Going to be a governess for the Malfoys—so she says." "Just what kind of governess needs a fine silk dress, I'd like to ask?" "Only fancy, such a creature entering a respectable establishment, quite unaccompanied, brazen as you please!"..._

Straightening my back, I fixed my eyes straight before me, and did my best to ignore them, though my cheeks burned. Upon reaching the counter, I expected someone to appear and serve me, but after a minute of waiting I picked up the small hand-bell and rang for service.

At length the  _m_ _aître d'_  appeared. He had always been exceedingly polite to my Aunt, but took no such pains with me. "What do you want?" he snapped, peering at me through his monocle.

Three days ago I would have been daunted by such incivility, but today, standing in my new robes and about to embark on a new life, the same feeling of rebellious resentment that I had experienced at the haberdasher's flooded through me once again. Aware that I was being listened in on, I spoke up boldly to the benefit of them all. "I should like to take the Floo to Tredraconis. One way only, thank you—I shan't return."

"It'll be ten knuts," the man replied, "Five for you, five for your baggage."

I produced the required amount from my coin-purse and placed it on the counter.

With a dismissive grunt, the  _m_ _aître d'_  scooped out a small measure of Floo powder from a glass bowl, and poured it into my cupped hand. "You want Tredraconis Inn," he told me. "It's the only one in the town, and I might add that it's not fit for respectable folk."

I nodded curtly at him, refusing to be daunted by more aspersions. Stepping up to the hearth, I drew my luggage in beside me and for some moments I stood still, the Floo powder balled in my fist, unable to move or speak, the enormity of the step I was about to take literally paralyzing me. ...But then my eyes swept over the room, taking in the tables full of rudely staring, smirking and scowling witches, and I thought,  _There is nothing here for me, anymore..._

I threw down the powder. "Tredraconis Inn!" I cried.

…

The room into which I emerged could not have been more of a contrast to the one I left.

Gone were the gleaming tables, well-dressed patrons and airy bright windows of the tearooms. Indeed, the room was so dark and dingy that it took me several moments before I could make out anything at all. The first thing I noticed was the smell of the place—a strong, unpleasant mix of stale liquor, rising damp and burning tallow.

As my eyes adjusted to the gloom I saw that I was in a tavern, and a more grimy and disreputable-looking establishment I could not recall ever having set foot in. With a sinking sensation in my stomach I beheld the clusters of rough-looking men sitting around rickety tables, drinking from great earthenware beer-flagons or nursing chipped glasses filled with oily, clear liquid. The atmosphere was thick with tobacco smoke which caught in my throat and stung my eyes.

The bar, a great slab of blotched and stained oak, appeared to be unattended. Nervously, I stepped out of the hearth, searching for a friendly face—or at least a female one—whom I might apply to for assistance.

Failing to discover anyone answering to either description, I made a hesitant, general application to the room. "Is...is this Tredraconis?"

No-one replied—nor even appeared to notice me.

Gripping my wand tightly, I took a second step into the room. "Where may I find the inn's publican, please?"

 _Perhaps this isn't Tredraconis,_  I thought, with a thrill of dread.  _Perhaps I pronounced it wrongly—_

"Well, well," a voice growled in my ear, and I jumped with a squeak of alarm, whirling to face the looming figure I had not seen approach from the shadows. "Looks like a little stray bird flew down the chim-ber-ley."

A burly wizard loomed large and close, a roguish smile on his dark-stubbled face. His appearance did little to inspire my confidence—rather, he seemed to fit exactly the description of what my Aunt would have called a "knave." His long hair was straggly and matted, his face bore the marks of a recent altercation, and his clothes were unkempt and strangely mismatched, as if collated from a variety of unrelated sources.

His accent sounded odd to my ears, not exactly foreign, but certainly not any Cornish dialect I had ever heard.

Never having been in such close proximity to any wizard before—let alone such a nefarious-looking one—I found myself instinctively recoiling and backing away. Almost immediately, I tripped over a pair of heavy boots, belonging to a second man who had silently moved in behind me, and now caught me as I fell.

"Oho, I think she likes me," said this man, and I was shocked to feel his hands making free with my bodice as he ostensibly righted me to my feet. As I shrugged myself out of his grip, he suddenly drew me tightly back against him, his arms wrapping about my waist like iron brands.

Crying out in protest, I tried to bring up my wand, but my arm was trapped by my side. "Let go of me!—How dare you!— _Help_  me!" I desperately petitioned the other patrons in the room, but was rewarded only by a round of guffaws.

"Calm ya' cauldron, sweeting," said the black-haired wizard, a taunting gleam in his eyes, "we're only being friendly-like." He began closing in on me, until I was trapped in between the two of them. "We don't get too many lady-visitors down this way."

"I can see why!" I spat angrily, struggling wildly to free myself, clawing at the thick arms encircling my waist. "Unhand me this instant, you—you scoundrels!" This epithet earned another snigger from the onlookers, apparently used to seeing this style of treatment of strangers in their midst.

"Aw, that's not a very civil way to speak to gentlemen such as ourselves," the man holding me snarled in my ear, lewdly pressing himself against me. "We only want to get a little better...acquainted." So saying, one of his hands suddenly gripped my chin, forcing my face upwards and holding it still, while the black-haired wizard bent over me and, cutting off my shriek of terror, roughly planted his mouth on mine and thrust his tongue between my lips.

"Alright, that's enough, boys," said a new voice from somewhere nearby. "Let the lass go or you'll feel the sharp end of my stinging hex."

Finding myself abruptly released, I stumbled away from the two wizards, tears of fright and rage spilling down my cheeks as I rubbed my lips with the sleeve of my robe, trying to rid the bitter taste from my mouth.

Belatedly I brought my wand up, although it could afford me but little protection, for I knew no defensive spells but 'Expelliarmus', and not a single jinx or hex. I inwardly vowed that the first item I would purchase with my quarterly wages was a book of duelling spells.

"Curse 'ee for a damn'd killjoy, Fletcha'," the black-haired wizard swore at the intervening party, who I took to be the publican of the inn. "We was only having a little sport wif the wench."

"I told you before not to start trouble in here, Scabior," the publican growled. He was an older, bandy-legged wizard, with an ill-favoured face and sly, darting eyes. "The last thing I need is complaints bringing the law sniffing around this-aways."

"She weren't complaining," said the second wizard, a great, thuggish, fair-haired man—even bigger than his black-haired cohort—less-eccentrically dressed, but equally as shabby and dirty. "At least, not very hard."

"Enough of your guff, Rowle," hissed the publican warningly. Then, wand still wielded at them, he said in a louder voice, "Ask the young lady's pardon, lads."

The men exchanged glances, then the one called Scabior turned to me with a facetious smirk. "Begging your pardon, miss," he said in a tone of exaggerated apology. "I must've been 'overwhelmed by your charms', as they say."

I flushed deeply, the sting of his sarcasm adding insult to the injury already inflicted.

"You too, Rowle."

The blond wizard's eyes trailed insolently over my rumpled bodice. "If you'll only grant me your pardon, miss, I swear next time I'll treat you like a  _proper_ lady." He finished with a leering grin.

The publican turned to me. "I hope you don't take it too amiss, young lady," he said, in a wheedling tone that made my skin crawl. "The lads can be a little...uncouth when deep in cups, if you take my meaning. You won't be complaining about this to the authorities, will you now, miss?"

There was a profound silence, and a dangerous, taut tension seemed to fill the room, as if every ear was bent upon my reply. Instinctively I knew my safety—perhaps my life—depended on submitting the correct answer.

"No," I said, my voice audibly shaking, "I won't complain."

Instantly the tension relented, and the men began to drink and talk again. The publican smiled ingratiatingly at me. "Thank you, miss," he said. "We should like to avoid unpleasant consequences at all cost." He said it in such a way as to leave me no doubt that it would be  _I_ , not them, who suffered the consequences.

He addressed my attackers again. "Right, you two scumbags sit down and keep your traps shut, or I'll be having words with the governor about you."

The two wizards sauntered over to the bar, the black-haired one executing a mocking bow as he passed by me, the fair-haired man sneering loathsomely.

The publican turned back to me. "Now, what brings you down to Tredraconis, lass?" he asked, his sly eyes darting over me with a kind of calculating interest.

"I wish to get to Malfoy Manor without Apparation," I told him, my voice still unsteady. "Is it within walking distance?"

"It's a fair ways, miss," replied the man. "If you can fly we've got brooms for hire, but I'm afraid we don't have Lady's Brooms or side-saddles."

"No," I replied. "I cannot fly; I suppose I must walk. Can you tell me the way?"

"It would take three hours on foot, miss. But if you care to tarry for an hour here, the porter from the Manor will be stopping by to pick up some...ah, goods. You can arrange to travel back with him." Seeing my dubious glance at the two men at the bar, he added in a lower voice, "The porter is a respectable wizard, miss, you needn't be afraid of him. His sister is governess at the Manor."

I made a small cry of surprise. "But  _I_  am the governess!" I said. "At least, that is the post which I am going there to assume."

The publican's eyes narrowed with interest. "Is that so, miss? Aye, well, news travels slow down to these parts. I dare say Miss Weasley left to be married; good-looking, high-spirited wench like her wouldn't stay a maid for long... Even M'lord had eyes for her, though she were too sharp to be caught in his trap."

I experienced a strange pang in my breast. The governess before me, a famous beauty, a clever witch, admired by the gentry!  _She_  would not have been so contemptuously manhandled by ruffians, within seconds of arriving...she would never have been put in such precarious situation as I—utterly friendless and hopelessly ignorant as I was.

Once again, my deficiencies rose before me with painful clarity, magnified by the comparison my imagination wrought between myself and my predecessor...this beautiful 'Miss Weasley'.

"Well, lass?" My morose thoughts were interrupted by the publican's voice. "Will you take some refreshments while you wait? It will be on the house for the—ah—inconvenience you suffered."

"No thank—"

"I must insist, miss."

I sensed it would not be wise to continue to refuse. "Just...just a coffee, please," I said faintly.

"I'll bring it over to you. Sit down by the fire," he gestured to a smaller hearth, in which a paltry pile of twigs smoked rather than burned, "—and don't worry about these mangy dogs, they'll not bother you again if they reckon their hands worth keeping." He spoke loud enough for all to hear.

Compliantly I sat down in the indicated seat, using my wand to Accio my trunk to my side.

Moments later the publican brought me a tarnished tray bearing a battered coffee-pot, a jug of watery milk and a none-too-clean cup. "There we are, m'dear," he murmured. His eyes once again flitted over me calculatingly. "If I may make so bold, miss, what is your name?"

"Miss Granger," I replied as quietly as I could, not wishing to make it public knowledge among these villains.

The man bowed. "Mr. Fletcher at your service," he said. "Well, Miss Granger, if you care for more coffee, you have only to call for it."

I nodded my thanks, and made a display of pouring out the coffee and milk, though my fingers trembled dreadfully. The coffee was terribly bitter, and a hard lump in my throat made it even more difficult to swallow.

My exciting dream of coming to Tredraconis had already become something of a nightmare, and I had not even been here one quarter of an hour. I recalled the tearoom- _m_ _aître d'_ _s_ warning that the place was, "not fit for respectable folk". It seemed he had not exaggerated, after all.

I only hoped that Malfoy Manor—if indeed I ever made it there—would not contain any more such unwelcome surprises.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has so far read, reviewed, followed & faved! I feel really encouraged by the enthusiasm expressed so far :)
> 
> This chapter contains a little bit of Cornish dialect and Victorian words, which I have asterisked like so* and have provided a brief translation in the end notes. If this seems too distracting, let me know, and I may edit them out.
> 
> AU note: Instead of Snatchers, we have Fetchers. Read on to find out more.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this installment, please leave a comment with your thoughts, I'd really appreciate it!  
> Xox artful

...

I very much wished to go outside and see something of the village of Tredraconis, but after the indignity I had suffered at the hands of the two thuggish wizards, I was no longer confident of a friendly reception, or even a respectful one. The watchful (and somewhat disconcerting) gaze of the publican seemed the only thing standing between me and I-knew-not-what peril.

Keeping my eyes bent either on the hearth or my coffee cup, I made myself as unobtrusive as possible while I waited for the porter from the Manor to arrive.

I could not help but feel despondent. It was as if all the building excitement of the preceding few days had been doused by a cold 'Augmenti' spell, and I was left dazed and shivering, wondering what next I was to expect. My Aunt's voice seemed to echo in my mind, berating me for having jeopardised my safety—or, worse, my character; that I had not been left alone ten days but I had embroiled myself in a future of mischief and misery; that for all her hard work to bring me up respectably, I had stumbled at the first hurdle and would undoubtedly fall hereafter.

These melancholy ruminations were eventually interrupted by the swinging open of the inn's heavy oak door, as a young man—perhaps five years older than I—appeared upon the threshold. He was of a tall, lanky stature, with bright copper hair cropped shorter than the fashion and partially hidden beneath a brown leather cap, with a pair of merry blue eyes in a frank, liberally-freckled face.

He certainly cut a better figure than the patrons within the murky tavern, being neatly (though humbly) dressed, and scrupulously clean. His amiable countenance immediately reassured me; I felt instinctively that I had nothing to fear from him.

"Good morrow, pards*!" he addressed the room with cheerful confidence, using an old-fashioned dialect that I had rarely heard spoken in the decorous streets of Turningstone. "Wasson*, Fletcher?"

"Good morrow, Weasley, " the publican called across the room to him. "I'm finer than china, my boy, and good as wand-wood. Step in, and let me fill ye a tankard while the lads load the cart."

The young wizard passed near by me, but did not seem to notice my place by the hearth. Surreptitiously, I watched him approach the counter, where he nodded to and exchanged words with the wizards who had so rudely attacked me, both of whom then sauntered behind the bar and disappeared through a back door. I did not like to see this young man's apparent civility to two such louts as they, and wondered if he would have defended me against them, had he been present an hour earlier. Something made me believe he would have.

The publican drew a tankard of ale for the porter—this 'Weasley'—and the pair began to converse earnestly, the older wizard casting many a sly and furtive look about the room as they talked. At last they both straightened, and the publican led the younger man over to where I was seated.

"Miss Granger," said Mr. Fletcher with an oily smile, "allow me to present you to my par-tic-ular friend, Porter Weasley of Malfoy Manor."

I stood and curtsied, and was gratified to observe the copper-haired wizard remove his cap and bow respectfully in return. "Honoured to make your acquaintance, miss," he said, a pleasant tinge of colour spreading across his freckled cheeks as he addressed me. "Fletcher tells me you're to be the new Governess at the Manor."

"Yes, sir," I replied, my eyes bent alternately on the floor, my hands, and anywhere except the personage before me, acutely aware of an complete dearth of experience in conversing with young wizards, let alone begging a favour of one. All other words forsook me, and I more than matched the porter's light flush with a brighter hue of my own.

Observing, I suppose, my sudden confusion, he said in a kindly voice, "If I may, miss, I'm quite at your disposal to carry you thither. ...If you'll only bide a little longer while I help with loading, I'll bring the cart around front."

"Thank you—y-yes, if you please," I stammered, greatly relieved to have the embarrassment of imploring his assistance removed by his offering it. We both made our obeisances again, and the younger wizard departed the same way the two ruffians had a few minutes prior.

Mr. Fletcher remained behind, gesturing for me to sit down again, and drawing up a wooden stool he stationed himself nearby.

"If I may impart a few parting words of friendly advice, Miss Granger?"

I didn't particularly wish to hear what he had to say, but could not without rudeness decline. With a brief nod I assented to hear him.

The publican leaned in nearer again to me. "I hope as you won't take it ill, miss," he said in a gruff murmur, "if I make mention that it don't do to ask too many questions around here."

I drew back with a sharp breath, unsure if he were issuing a threat or really (as he put it) offering me advice. Quickly he continued, "Meaning no disrespect to 'ee, miss—I see you are a neat, quiet sort of lass; you must forgive my...indelicate turn of phrase. I only wish to do 'ee a good turn, nothing more."

"I'm much obliged for your concern, but I don't believe such advice necessary," I replied coldly. "I very much doubt I'll return with any haste to Tredraconis, after—." I stopped short. I had been about to say, " _after the disgraceful way I was treated in your establishment",_ but something in the man's keen glance hindered me from doing so.

"That is as may be, miss," said the publican, with an expressive smile at my sudden faltering, "how-some-ever, you'll find it applies as much to the place you're going to, as the one from which you're departing. For all their airs and graces, you'll find that the fine folks up at the Manor have as many skeletons as they have closets to hide 'em in, if you'll pardon another coarse saying. I only want to put you on your guard, Miss Granger, seeing as how you're a stranger to the ways and customs of these parts."

Another warning! I hardly knew what to make of it all. Could I really be blindly blundering into some kind of 'den of iniquity', no better than the one I presently found myself in, or was I merely hearkening to a reprobate with agendas of his own?

"Thank you, Mr. Fletcher," I mumbled, with an appearance of submissiveness, though I was still uncertain as to whether his words were intended to forewarn or to frighten me. "I will think on it."

At this timely moment the front door swung open, and the rangy figure of 'Porter Weasley' brightened its threshold a second time. Immediately my heart gladdened to his friendly, honest aspect, and I thought,  _if such a man works for the Malfoys, they cannot be so bad...surely?_

"Are you ready, miss?" he asked me, and I responded by quickly donning my bonnet and gloves, picking up my reticule, and recasting a 'Locomotor' on my trunk.

Dipping a brief curtsey to Mr. Fletcher, with a parting thanks for the coffee, I turned and made my way over to where the porter waited for me, an engaging smile overspreading his face.

"Cummas 'zon*, maid," he murmured in his rustic dialect, beckoning me to follow him outside. "I'll see thee safely home."

A heavy wooden dray-cart, stacked with boxes, barrells and packages wrapped in oilskin, was stationed on the cobbled street, tethered behind two great, grey Shire horses with silky white manes and large, gentle, dark eyes. I had never seen Shire horses up so close; in genteel Turningstone only slim-legged, elegant horses were seen in the streets, and the work horses relegated to the surrounding fields.

Seeing the awe and admiration on my face as I looked up at the pair—easily eighteen hands apiece—Porter Weasley grinned proudly, patting their noses each in turn.

"This is Oak," he told me, "and this is Ash." Then, addressing the beasts, he said, "My 'ansums*, you'll be carrying a lady, so step light and level."

Stowing my trunk among the piles of freight, the porter then cast a load-lightening charm over the whole cart before handing me up to the wooden plank which served for a seat, springing up beside me to take the reins. I peered along the street, my curiosity a little dimmed by the unprepossessing, dilapidated buildings and grimy, narrow street. I had always supposed the village closest to the famously-magnificent Malfoy Manor would reflect some of its glory, but now I could only hope that its virtues would lie in its contrasts, not its similarities.

The porter flapped the reins and the cart began to rumble forward.

* * *

…

Tredaconis proved to be little more than a one-street village, perhaps only a third the size of Turningstone. Within a few minutes of driving, the terraced granite buildings which loomed forbiddingly over the narrow main street were replaced by rows of small, lime-washed cottages. They looked unkempt and generally run-down, and many were empty.

I considered asking Porter Weasley about the derelict state of the village, but with Mr. Fletcher's warning that "it don't do to ask too many questions" still ringing in my ears, I thought the better of it and held my tongue.

Then, quite suddenly, and much sooner than I had expected, we turned off the cobbled street and were out on the open road, buffeted by a fine wind that rushed over tracts of wild moorland on one side, while on the other—"Oh!" My breath caught with a rush of returning excitement as I turned and surveyed a vista I had only ever seen before in illustrated print or painted canvas.

There it was! The silver sea!

Glistening beneath a bright morning sun, stretching out into infinity, so vast and powerful and breathtakingly beautiful! Hungrily, almost greedily, I devoured the spectacular panorama, drinking in the unfamiliar sights, sounds and scents of the sea crashing upon a pebbled shore far below us, the cry of gulls swooping overhead, and the bracing, briny air that filled my lungs and tasted tangy upon my tongue.

I could not help but be exhilarated, nor contain my exhilaration which burst from me in the form of a joyous laugh. The porter, who had maintained a respectful but amiable silence until now, chuckled at my obvious excitement.

"Hast never beheld the sea, maid?"

"No, never!" I exclaimed. "If only for this, I am glad I came!" Then, noticing a speck of colour in the distance, I asked, "Is that a muggle fishing boat?"

"Nay, 'tis further out than the muggles dare drift."

"These waters are dangerous, then?"

"Treacherous, even to such as ourselves. Many a wizard has pitted his powers against the mighty Atlantic, and been lost to her deeps."

I shivered a little at this. "So that is a wizard's boat?"

"Aye, more than likely a Fetcher's vessel."

"A Fetcher's vessel?...I have never heard that term before," I said.

"'Tis no great wonder; you'll not find such folk but by the coast. They're a thewy, hardy bunch, the Fetchers are, in the business of harvesting ingredients not found in forest nor field."

"You mean, ingredients for potions?"

"Potions, tinctures, draughts...and other, not so wholesome, preparations..."

My eyes widened at the inference I could not help but make from those words. " _Poisons?_ " I asked, aghast even at the implication of such unlawfulness.

The porter bit his lower lip as if regretting having said so much. "Nay, I spoke only in jest," he said quickly. "The Manor folk and the villagers often quiz one another. The call us soft maidens, and we call them smuggling curs. 'Tis no denying they're a rough lot, not overmuch concerned with appearances of civility."

"Indeed, I know too well," I said rather sharply, as I recalled being so contemptuously manhandled by the two ruffians at the inn. "I have already sampled their 'incivility', as you would term it—though  _I_  should call it insolence."

The young man was quiet for a moment, then in a chastened voice he murmured, "Fletcher mentioned some trouble."

I flushed at the humiliating memory of being incapacitated by one wizard while the other forced his tongue in my mouth. "I was treated so disgracefully I shall never again set foot in the place," I replied, my voice atremble with rekindled disgust and ire. "I own myself shocked that  _you_  are on speaking terms with such scurrilous brutes."

Porter Weasley shrugged apologetically. "Aye, Scabior and Rowle are confirmed velluns*, no mistake," he said. "But t'would be impolitic to affront men whom I must work alongside."

I gasped. "You do not mean to tell me  _they_  work for the Malfoys?"

"Not directly, miss. They are hired hands; they work for whomever has coin to pay 'em, and are not scrupulous about the tasks they undertake..." His body suddenly tensed, as if again realising he had said too much, then he added, "However, 'tis my opinion there's more mischief than harm in them."

I was not much pleased by this response to my complaint. It seemed to me that, without the publican's timely interference, the thuggish wizards might very well have inflicted a great deal of harm upon me. And it sounded to me like ' _hired hands'_  was but a euphemism for ' _mercenaries'_.

"Well, I hope never to lay eyes on them again," I said shortly.

"Very likely you won't," the porter replied. "Their work rarely brings them to the Manor—and if ever it should, I'll take pains to keep them out of your way."

"Thank you," I said, though despite his reassurances, I was extremely unhappy to learn that the Manor was no stranger to such wretches darkening its doorstep. My anxiety, however, did not seem to be noticed by my companion, who had quickly regained his cheerful aspect and soon began to whistle a cheery tune.

For an half-hour longer we drove along the rugged coastline, until finally the road turned inward and we left the coastal splendour for a quieter, quainter terrain of lush fields and winding lanes hemmed in by "Cornish hedges"—tall walls of interlocking rocks grown over with grass, moss and heather. The horses made good speed, thanks to the load-lightening charm cast upon the cart, and when I asked how long the journey might take, the wizard assured me we would reach the Manor in another half-hour or so.

After a while I gained the courage to speak on a subject which had played on my mind since I had first heard it mentioned by the publican. "Porter Weasley, I hope you won't think me impertinent if I ask you a—a question," I said, then lapsed immediately into silence, afraid to actually submit it.

The porter turned and smiled encouragingly at me. "Ask away, miss, I don't mind."

"Well...well, you see...Mr. Fletcher informed me that the position I'm to fill at the Manor was last occupied by your sister. Forgive my curiosity, but may I ask why she left so suddenly?"

The young man's smile did not waver, but seemed somehow to stiffen. "...She did not impart her reasons to me," he said at length. "But then, we aren't close or confiding. She never did like to—." he stopped abruptly, then spoke again in such a way as made me believe he changed the content of his original sentence. "—to stay in one place for long. She is a flighty, headstrong sort of lass." He did not say it unkindly, but I was sure there was a note of discontent in his voice.

"I'm sorry to seem officious," I said, "it is only that I have heard some...puzzling accounts of the Malfoy family, and I wonder if your sister's reasons for leaving might all too soon become my own."

The porter seemed to relax a little at this, and the frank quality returned to his smile. "Oh, 'tis doubtful you'll have much to do with the family, miss. Keep your head down and you'll get along fine—that's my own policy, and it's stood me in good stead these five odd years."

I nodded, but did not reply.  _"Keep your head down,"_ reminded me very much of something my Aunt Agna would have advised me to do.

As I mused on this, a great black coach appeared suddenly in the narrow lane, preceded by four magnificent black horses. Porter Weasley swiftly reined in and swerved upon the verge, giving way—and it was just as well he did, for the vehicle showed no sign of slowing down or deviating from its path.

It was quite a formidable sight, bearing down on us at such velocity; huge, black and gleaming beneath the bright morning sun. As it approached I could see that it was driven by two coachmen, sitting high up, while a footman stood at the rear of the coach. They were dressed in full, splendid livery, the colours of their frock-coats matching the silver and green appointments of the carriage, including a beautiful design on its door, identical to that which had graced the top of the Indenture Retainer I had signed, and which I now knew to be the Malfoy coat-of-arms.

None of the coachmen deigned to acknowledge us as the carriage thundered past us.

Raising my eyes from the Malfoy crest and shield, I was suddenly conscious of a gaze connecting with mine through the pane of glass above it. My breath caught in my throat and a strange shiver stole over my body as I beheld a pair of silver eyes glittering icily in a sharply-chiselled, high-bred face, framed strikingly by a sheet of long, white-blond hair.

In mere seconds the coach was gone, but I had the strangest feeling for some minutes afterwards that those eyes were still fixed on my own.

"Who was that?" I tentatively asked the porter, who was clicking to his own pair of horses and gently urging them back onto the road.

"Why, that was Milord, of course," he replied.

Yes...yes, of course I had guessed as much, but the man looked so entirely different from the sketch my imagination had furnished, that I was unaccountably unsettled. The fact of his having a full-grown son, the rumours of his cruelty and affinity with Dark magic had made me envisage him as a much older man with a sunken, wizened face, twisted with spite and malice, with a back hunched from poring over his forbidden books and brews... I  _hadn't_  imagined him to be so young—in a palpably powerful prime, perhaps mid-forties, or a little older. And I certainly had never imagined him to be so...so very... _beautiful._

"Where is he going in that coach?" I asked, a little too loudly, trying to distract myself from that last unbidden thought. "Does not the Manor have a Private Floo connection?"

"Aye, but Milord has many interests in the area, outside the reach of the Floo Plexus."

"Why does he not fly or Apparate?"

The young man paused a little before answering, as if wondering how best to reply. "'Tis the fashion to travel in high style," he murmured. Then after some further minutes of deliberation, he said, "Not wishing to alarm you, miss, but I take it you have not heard of the unfortunate incidents afflicting the family in recent times?"

"No!" I exclaimed, very much alarmed despite his wishes. "What do you mean?"

"Not to worry, miss; you and I are safe as Gringotts, as the saying goes..." He peered around us, as if not quite convinced of his own words. "'Tis only the family who've been targeted, which has led to a general disinclination for broom-flying and other forms of unaccompanied travelling."

"Targeted!" I cried. "Do you mean that attempts have been made upon their lives?"

"Aye, I suppose I do mean that," he replied. "On one occasion the young master was thrown from his broom, on another, the sister of Milady (rest her soul) was ambushed and suffered a Curse to her face—nearly lost her eye, she did. Milord himself was attacked only two weeks ago, but he managed to fight them off—"

"Them? Then there was more than one assailant?"

"Aye, there were three on that occasion."

"But why?" I cried, now really frightened. "Who should wish to murder them?"

"No one knows, miss. But, if I may say so, the family are better at making enemies than keeping friends—although," he added hurriedly, and I feared not quite truthfully, "I know nothing about that."

My heart sunk at this. So, perhaps there  _was_  some veracity to the rumours I had hoped were but idle gossip... Recalling vividly those silver eyes and that supercilious, almost cruelly-beautiful face, I began to think I could believe them.

Before I could sink too far into despondency, the road twisted and suddenly widened, opening up a vista almost as breath-taking as my first glimpse of the sea, causing me to gasp aloud and my heart to thud wildly inside my chest.

An immense wrought-iron gate, ornately scrolled and set between two great stone columns, stretched up into the noon-day sky, flanked by a high railing which disappeared into a row of hedges on each side. Beyond this gate was a wide stretch of smooth, velvety grass, sloping upwards and encircled by a ring of gravel that formed a long driveway leading up towards the zenith of this incline. Looming at the top like some enormous medieval fortress, stood the famous—or I was beginning to believe, infamous—Malfoy Manor.

Though I had seen its illustrated likeness sketched in journals and books, I was unprepared for the sheer scale of the place, the impenetrable facade, the imposing turrets and thick buttresses, which seemed to dominate the very landscape over which it looked.

I...I was to live and work in  _there?_

Momentarily it seemed impossible— _everything_ seemed impossible, and I felt almost paralyzed by doubt, dismay, and even a kind of terror. How could I ever hope to forge a place for myself in such a noble and forbidding residence, belonging to such a noble, forbidding master? How could I possibly measure up to the standard already set by the beautiful and clever governess who preceded me? How dared I even set my foot in a place steeped in so much history and grandeur? ...I, so plain, so ignorant, so  _ignoble_...

"Don't worry, miss," the porter's cheerful voice threaded through my thoughts; evidently he had noticed the despair and panic I could not disguise. "They're no better than the rest of us, and some of 'em are a deal sight worse."

He flicked his wand and the gates swung silently open.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Good morrow, pards—Good morning, friends  
> *Wasson, Fletcher—How are you, Fletcher?  
> *Cummas 'zon, maid—Come on then, maid  
> *my 'ansums—"my handsomes", a casual term of endearment in Cornwall, similar to "my friends"  
> A/N Love to hear your thoughts on the chapter :) Thanks for reading! xox artful


	4. Chapter 4

Porter Weasley urged his horses through the huge wrought-iron gates, handling them with a gentleness and expertise that I could not help admiring. Once through, he paused to close the gates behind us. His ability with his wand was, I noticed, more clumsy and exaggerated than his ability with his animals—but effective, none-the-less.

The driveway leading to the Manor's imposing entrance swept up through a sea of velvety grass in an elegant curve, but the young man directed the noses of his horses in a different direction. A narrower path veered off to the right and was swallowed in trees, and this we followed in a great ring around the base of the hillock, emerging a couple of minutes later from the enclosing foliage. I gasped at the alarming vista which met my eyes: instead of the gently-sloping and manicured lawn on its front-side, the back way proved to be not much more than a rocky tor with a zigzagging track carved into its sheer incline, over which the back-exterior of the Manor ominously presided.

"There's the staff entrance, miss," the porter announced, pointing at a large iron-braced oak door set into the hewn masonry at the top.

Once again, I struggled to control the wild racing of my pulse at the sight of such an imposing building. If anything, this back aspect of the Manor seemed even  _more_  like some grim, medieval fortress, with small windows and no decorative masonry-work save for a pair of ugly gargoyles perched above the door, glaring menacingly down the hillside, as if daring any foe to approach.

"Gee-up, me 'ansomes," the young man urged Ash and Oak, who seemed, understandably, rather unwilling to begin the steep ascent. "You don't wish Miss Granger to think'ee lazy brutes, do you, lads?"

"I begin to share their reluctance," I murmured, earning a chuckle from my companion at my obvious dismay.

"Don't worry, miss," he said cheerfully. "We've only ever overturned twice, and once was owing to foul weather."

I was not able to derive much comfort from this revelation, but indeed, as we began to make progress up the steep, irregular path, the horses proved stable and the driver extremely careful, and at length I was able to relax sufficiently to look out over the surrounding countryside.

It was very fair, though quite flat: a pleasing chequerboard of green fields and yellow pasture, with woodlands in the distance and a stippling of cottages throughout. The spectacular coastline was also discernible, closer than I had expected, but partially obscured by our present location upon the hill. I surmised that the ocean would be fully visible from the east-facing windows of the Manor, and secretly hoped that my room might be situated to overlook it—although I supposed those vantages would be reserved for the 'great folk', as Porter Weasley termed them.

As my gaze wandered over the landscape, I noticed a strange structure, about a mile inland, protruding out from a wider surrounding of dense, leafy trees. It was very tall and narrow, almost like a single turret of a castle, replete with battlements encircling its pinnacle.

"What is that stone tower yonder?" I asked my companion curiously. "Is it a ruin? Or a monument of some kind?"

"Neither one, nor other," Porter Weasley replied. "'Tis a queer kind of house."

"A house! How extraordinary! I should never have guessed that. ...It looks quite peculiar."

"No wonder; it belongs to a long line of peculiar wizards. All of that wooded area and what it contains within is an ancient free-holding. 'Tis the only piece of land as far as the eye sees, which is not owned by the present Milord."

"Indeed?"

"Aye, and a thorn in the side of every Lord Malfoy these past five-hundred years, for it is stocked with such rare plants and creatures as you'll not easily discover anywhere else in Britain. ...But perchance Milord will not have to wait much longer to gain the land..."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you see miss, the family line is nearly extinguished. Only two of them remain: the present Squire Lovegood and his daughter, for Mistress Lovegood died ten years since, and the Squire never took a second wife. Them as never having a son, it falls to young Miss Lovegood to marry and provide an heir; however she is a sickly creature, not likely to see her next birthday."

"How old is Miss Lovegood?"

"I should place her about your own age, miss."

I reddened, wondering at what age he "placed" me, but not venturing to ask. Instead I remarked, "Well, I hope she may recover her health!" For some strange reason, I didn't like to think of the rich and powerful Lord Malfoy finally 'gaining' what he and his ancestors so long had coveted, at the expense of a frail young woman's life. Almost defiantly, I added, "And, perchance, one day she may marry, and continue on the family line."

'Tis doubtful," answered the porter. "The lass has not been seen these past three months, and there's talk she's confined to her bed with a mortal illness."

"Cannot she be healed?"

"Squire Lovegood refuses any assistance in treating her."

"But why?"

The young man shrugged. "To speak truth, there is something rum about every Lovegood, such as was and is. Even the Squire's wife was a singular sort of witch, given to experimenting with magic, which killed her in the end.—Not to speak ill of the dead, but so it happened. All of 'em are a little... _'touched in the head'_ , as the saying goes _._ "

I drew a breath, then hesitantly asked, "There is...madness in the family?"

"Some might say, miss," he replied, "but I shouldn't go so far. Miss Lovegood is a pretty, gentle sort of maid, but with a singular manner and a wandering way of talking. As for the Squire, I've heard him called a polymath, but of such things beyond the understanding of ordinary folk. They keep pretty well to themselves, which may be wisdom or folly, depending who you ask."

All of this information was extremely interesting to my unworldly eyes. The quiet house and conservative town in which I had grown up had been utterly devoid of such diverse and intriguing characters as this morning's adventure had already presented to me. Once again, I felt a stir of sympathy for the sickly girl, and a surge of dislike against the cruel-looking Lord in his gleaming black coach who must be looking eagerly to her early demise...

But soon my thoughts were eclipsed by other more-pressing topics, for at last we had surmounted the zigzagging back driveway, and Ash and Oak were bid to "Whoa" outside the massive oak door.

The porter sprang down from his perch with an agility that belied his lanky stature. "Here is your stop, miss!" he exclaimed, loosening the canvas dray-cover and fetching my trunk from amongst the stowed freight. Coming around to my side, he reached up and extended his hand for me to take, it being a fair drop to the ground.

With another blush, I slipped my right hand into his waiting palm, then, gripping my reticule firmly with my left hand, I jumped down onto the grassy verge. I stumbled a little upon landing, and was quickly steadied by the wizard, however he relinquished his hold as soon as my footing was restored, taking no insulting liberties like those taken by the two ruffians at the Inn.

Removing his cap, the sunlight danced off the young man's russet hair, only a little less highly pigmented than his flushing countenance. "It was an honour to make your acquaintance, Miss Granger," he said, executing an inelegant but courteous bow. "I hope we may meet again afore long."

I curtseyed in return. "Thank you for bringing me here, Porter Weasley. If not for your assistance I do not know how I would have found my way."

"'Twas no trouble and much pleasure." He paused, and then, a little bashfully, he said, "If ever you wish to be carried to Tredraconis or elsewhere abouts, make free to send an owl to the Porter's Lodge. It is not a quarter-mile from here, and I should be glad to ride with 'ee again."

I stammered my thanks, unsure if it were more a breach of propriety to accept or decline such an offer.

Observing my confusion, he quickly added, "Intending no disrespect, miss. I only meant in case of emergency, or...or such."

I was grateful for his discretion, if not his delicacy. "You are very kind," I replied.

There was an odd sort of silence, as if the young man were caught been the intention to depart and a desire to linger. Then suddenly he bent toward me and, in a low and furtive tone, he murmured, "I hope as you won't mind if I make bold to offer a final word of warning, 'ere we part, miss."

I stared at him, surprised, recalling the unsought-for 'advice' bestowed on me by Mr Fletcher, the keeper of Tredraconis Inn.

Hurriedly, the porter continued, "'Tis only—'tis only to beware, and keep as much away as possible from Milord and the young Master." As he spoke, I saw something like a shadow cross his usually-sunny countenance. "They're not such as can be trusted, for all their grand ways and fine manners."

"Oh!" I exclaimed, alarmed at yet another hint that my employer was not all that he should be. "I...I shall bear that in mind. At any rate, I can't think of any reason why I  _would_  have anything to do with them, or they with me."

At this, the porter's expression relaxed and he nodded. "True enough, miss," he said, a smile returning to his face.

He bowed once more, then strode back to his cart, swinging himself back up into his seat as easily as he had got down. He donned his cap, and, turning to me, he pointed to a long rope which hung down from the open jaws of the left-hand gargoyle, like a long serpent-tongue. "Pull that rope and you'll be let in by one of the servants directly." He flapped his reins and the cart rumbled forwards. " _Dyw genes_ , maid!" he called out jauntily. "Goodbye!"

"Goodbye," I replied rather softly, experiencing an unfamiliar kind of pang in my breast as I watched him drive away. It seemed to me that, in the course of this one short journey, I had made my first ever friend.

I levitated my trunk, then, turning toward the massive door, I slowly approached it.

I felt almost as if the gargoyles were watching me with sneering malintent, and their gloating expressions incited a whirl of tormenting questions in my mind _—how ought I address the servants?—would the family be welcoming and kind, or disdainful and supercilious?—would Mrs Marsh be there, or was I to be thrown amongst total strangers?—did they know I was a muggle-born?—_ &c, &c, until I felt almost maddened with fear and doubt.

For a full several minutes I stood, gazing up at the grotesque figures with a kind of dread-filled awe, unable to bring myself to reach up and pull the rope, my courage quite deserted as I contemplated all the terrible breaches of etiquette, novice mistakes and mortifying blunders I was bound to make, the moment I set my foot inside.

But at length, my Aunt Agna's sensible voice filtered through the mire of my insecurities.  _"...A mistake only remains a mistake if you do not learn from it..."_

I straightened my back. What good was it to tarry on the threshold like a dithering fool? I could not very well turn around and go back home; I had no home. This— _this_  was my new home. There was nothing to do except try my best to fit into it, and learn as quickly as I could as I went along.

With a deep breath, I reached up and tugged the rope, recoiling a little in surprise at the shrill ring it produced. Quickly I smoothed my dress, then stood with my reticule clutched in my trembling hands and my trunk at my feet, trying to appear confident and unperturbed.

Soon enough the door swung inward with a heavy groan, and I found myself face-to-face with a comely, black-eyed kitchen-maid, with a sharp face, impudent expression, and a tightly-fitted ruffled apron that rather emphasized than hid her generous curves.

She did not speak, only fixed her bold dark eyes on me and arched one eyebrow saucily, as much to say,  _'And what do_ _you_ _want?'_

"Good day," I said hesitantly, my paper-thin bravura wavering in the face of such manifest audacity. "Is the housekeeper—I mean, would it be possible—that is,  _may_  I speak with Mrs Marsh?"

"Madam's away today," the lass answered, with such a pert simper as left me doubtful as to her truthfulness.

"I see," I said, my heart sinking along with my courage. But then I felt my hackles rise under the wench's brazen stare, and I decided I was  _not_  going to be bullied by a kitchen maid, however quizzical and impertinent. I fixed her eye and, summoning a frosty voice, I said, "Please notify whomever is in charge in Mrs Marsh's stead, that the new governess has arrived."

At this, the maid looked rather taken-aback, and I was glad to see her bite her cherry lip as she hastily bobbed a curtsey. "Come inside, miss," she said in a chastened tone. "I'll show 'ee to Madam's parlour; maybe that she's returned early."

And so I took my first step inside the great and noble Malfoy Manor.

As I crossed the threshold, a shiver ran over me, perhaps from the cooler indoor temperature, or perhaps it was my excited nerves. It was the same tingling sensation that I had experienced when accidentally meeting the icy gaze of him to whom everything within these ancient walls belonged. He, whose vast riches appeared to have secured him neither sanctuary, nor companionship, nor contentment—if all that I had learned today held any truth.

And in my head, Porter Weasley's words echoed ominously... _"Keep away from Milord and the young Master...they're not such as can be trusted..."_

* * *

...

I followed the girl into a dimly-lit corridor. It proved narrow and quite long, with high wood-panelled walls, upon which flickering torches projected from brass sconces at regular intervals, lighting the way along great flags of bare, polished stone.

As we walked, I could hear the bustle of conversation and clattering cutlery, and, soon enough we passed a pair of open double-doors. A furtive glimpse inside revealed to me a large oaken table, around which twelve or thirteen servants were grouped, sitting to their midday luncheon.

"That be the Servant's Hall, miss," the maid volunteered, regaining some of her saucy boldness. She ought not to have noticed my surreptitious glance, let alone made free to comment on it. "We take our meals and do our mending there. But you won't have much to do with us; I dare say you'll take your meals up in your room."

I wasn't sure how to answer, and settled on an indistinct, "Oh?"

With a tone of assumed artlessness, she added, "That be what  _she_  did, when she first came here. The last governess as was, I mean. Of course, that changed soon enough. Dined with the family every night, she did. She was quite the favourite of...Well, I dare say I shouldn't say too much about that..." She trailed off and glanced slyly at me, hoping I would take her bait.

"No more you should," I replied primly, refusing to be ensnared by the gossip of a servant, although I secretly burned to know more.

I hoped she might be subdued by my rebuff, but indeed the insolent wench merely tossed her dark hair and smirked. "Well, to be sure it will be quite different for  _you,_ " she said, pointedly eyeing my unshapely figure. I held my tongue, for it seemed to be the only way to curb hers.

We passed two more open doors, which proved only to be storage rooms; presumably the kitchen and scullery lay behind one of the many doors that remained closed, or else they were situated at an underground level. I wondered what degree of segregation lay between the human staff and the elvish one; I supposed it would be quite a distinct one.

Finally, we reached the end of the corridor, and the serving-maid tapped on a door which stood slightly ajar.

"Enter!" came the crisp voice belonging to Mrs Marsh.

The black-eyed lass made a comic display of extreme surprise. "Why, it seems you be in luck, miss. I cannot  _think_  when Madam should have come back." With a very indifferent curtsey, she sashayed away and disappeared into the Servant's Hall.

I set down my trunk and reticule, then swiftly removed my bonnet and placed it on top of the articles of luggage. Patting my closely-braided hair for any loose tendrils, and discovering none, I slowly pushed the door wider and timidly stepped inside.

The "parlour" was really a spacious and well-appointed kind of office, furnished with handsome dark furniture and with a large window overlooking a pleasant and sunny kitchen-garden in an enclosed courtyard.

Mrs Marsh herself was sitting at a tall bureau, poring over a long scroll, a pair of round, gold-rimmed spectacles perched on her nose. I didn't wish to interrupt her concentration, so instead I stood still and waited for her to look up. At length the housekeeper murmured, "What is it?" without looking up from her scroll—I suppose she took me to be a servant on an errand.

Awkwardly, I spoke. "Good...good-day, Mrs Marsh."

Immediately the housekeeper unbent from her work, removing her glasses to look at me. "Ah! Miss Granger, is it you?" She quickly arose from her seat in a rustle of stiff silk, coming forward to greet me. As we shook hands, I could see her gaze sweeping over my improved appearance with evident surprise—and, I hoped, approval. "How do you do?"

"Very well, thank you," I replied. I was relieved to see a familiar face, but none-the-less nervous in the presence of such a poised and confident gentlewitch.

"I'm glad you've safely arrived...I trust you found us easily enough?"

"Yes, ma'am," I said, somewhat untruthfully. I did not wish to admit the difficulties I had faced in getting here, for that would mean disclosing my inability to either Apparate or fly—two dreadful inadequacies that I feared could cost me my employment.

Mrs Marsh beckoned me to follow her to a small, round rosewood table. "Will you take some tea and cake?" she asked me. "I was about to have some myself."

I thanked her and accepted, for I hadn't eaten since the night before, my nerves too wrought for breakfast, and the only beverage that had passed my lips was the unpalatably bitter coffee forced on me at Tredraconis Inn.

"First let me take your robe and bonnet," the lady said, helping me out of it. As she hung it on a stand near the door, I saw her inspecting the garment. "I suppose you must have laid out quite a sum for this robe," she said. "For surely you didn't make it yourself."

"I did make it myself!" I blurted out, then flushed scarlet at my ungainly vehemence.

Mrs Marsh turned her eyes on me, taking my new poplin dress into her sharp glance. "And that dress, too?" she said. "That is also your own work?"

"It is, ma'am," I said quietly, managing to gain my self-control. "I also made a second one like it, as well as a Sunday dress, and an evening gown besides."

Her eyes widened in real astonishment. "You created five garments in two days? You must be a very diligent worker and an extremely advanced seamstress."

"I—I hardly know, ma'am," I replied with a stammer, for my Aunt had never praised my work in such superlative terms. "I suppose so."

Mrs Marsh's keen gaze relented as she observed my confusion. "Forgive me; I did not mean to put you out of ease. I simply had not expected such a high calibre of needle-spellwork from someone so young." She regarded me thoughtfully for a few moments, then, collecting herself, she gestured to a seat at the rosewood table. "Please to sit, Miss Granger."

Taking our places, the housekeeper incanted an elegant little spell which caused the tea-things to lay out, the pot to pour and the cake to slice. I had learned a more-basic version from my Aunt, but made a mental note to practice these additional niceties for future use.

"Will you have milk and sugar?" asked the lady.

"Yes, if you please, ma'am," I said, hoping that I was choosing the most genteel option. In truth, I had never taken sugar with my tea, and only the smallest drop of milk—such were my Aunt's preference, and, by default, my own.

The tea was deliciously sweet and aromatic, and the cake as light as a feather. I was used to much humbler tea-time fare: plain black tea, much diluted, with toasted muffins or fairing biscuits; or my Aunt's heavy "keeping-cake" made from caraway seeds and Madeira that would make its inevitable appearance on special occasions.  _She_  would never have approved of something so insubstantial as this mere puff of sugar that melted to nothing as soon as it met the tongue.

We commenced to exchange the usual stock of ritualistic pleasantries of the tea-table: talking of the agreeable weather, the varied beauties of the countryside, and the panoramic vistas afforded from the Manor's vantage.

How grand I felt! Sipping sugary tea and partaking of fine sponge-cake in a great mansion, tête-à-tête with an elegant gentlewitch...I could almost forget this morning's traumatic episode at the Inn, and quite willingly pushed to the back of my mind the fears and doubts I harboured about my sinister new Master. Perhaps it would not be so difficult to fit in here, after all...

Almost as soon as this seductive thought flittered through my mind, Mrs Marsh deflated it entirely with her next sentence. "Miss Granger," she suddenly addressed me, straightening her back and assuming a business-like tone, "I hope you will allow me to make some...helpful suggestions, regarding how you may be expected to behave while under this roof."

I nearly gasped with dismay. What was it about me that evidently required repeated cautioning? First Mr Fletcher's ' _friendly advice',_ then Porter Weasley's _'words of warning'_ —and now Mrs Marsh's ' _helpful suggestions'. ..._ Was I so very gauche? So hopelessly,  _abominably_  gauche?

"Thank you, ma'am," I replied, my cheeks aflame, "—but I hope my  _behaviour_  will always be beyond reproach, however ignorant I am of the fastidious etiquette of the nobility."

"Indeed, it was the wrong word to employ," Mrs Marsh said apologetically. "Please, don't be offended. Knowing, as I do, how entirely friendless and without connections you are—how little experience you have of Pureblood society and great houses—I feel a certain...responsibility for your welfare. I only wish to offer you some well-meant guidance, if you will allow me?"

"Of course, ma'am," I said, mollified by her words. "That is very kind of you."

After a short pause to pour out some more tea for each of us, she began. "Miss Granger, a governess holds a unique position in a household such as this one. She is ranked above the servants, yet she is not on equal terms with the family she serves. She cannot with real propriety mingle with either her inferiors or superiors, and must stand aloof from all of them, guarding the perimeters of her position with utmost care..."

I took refuge in a gulp of tea. With a sting of self-consciousness, I thought of my friendly conversation with Porter Weasley. Ought I have maintained a cool reticence with that young man during our journey? But surely there was no harm in being cordial to a person who had rescued me from the unpleasant situation I found myself in...

"However," the lady continued, "on occasion, a governess with particularly engaging attributes may find herself distinguished by her employers, and invited to travers these perimeters." Mrs Marsh regarded me gravely. "...Mark me when I tell you, it is far better when the boundaries are properly preserved. An unmarried, unprotected young woman is particularly vulnerable to certain...persuasions and influences. She can never be too careful or suspicious of any man's attentions—but particularly those of her superiors."

I physically started, spilling my tea in my saucer, aghast at the inferences I was forced to make. "But I am only a plain muggle-born!" I exclaimed. "I am sure to be quite safe from  _anybody's_  attentions." And I laughed somewhat bitterly at the ludicrous idea of me being targeted for seduction by the lofty Lord, or wayward son.

"That is true, to an extent," the woman answered, causing me inwardly to flinch. "I admit, your blood status and...er,  _quiet_  appearance—" (I was sure she had been about to say 'quaint') "—were favourable considerations in making the decision to offer you this position. I do not wish past mistakes to be repeated."

I nodded and sipped my tea with as neutral an expression as I could muster. But inwardly, my heart was cruelly smote. How abominably naïve I was! It was  _not_  that Mrs Marsh had discerned in me some undiscovered potential and latent talent—it was the exact reverse! I had been hired, not for what I possessed, but for what I  _lacked_ : my lack of beauty, my lack of 'engaging attributes', my lack of purity...

"Again, you must forgive me," the housekeeper said. "I think I have upset you, when I only wish to put you on your guard."

"No, indeed," I managed to reply with an appearance of tranquility, "I appreciate your concern, ma'am."

The lady nodded, evidently pleased by my tractability. "Let me be a little more candid, Miss Granger," she said. "The governess before you was rather a headstrong young lady, and did  _not_  see fit to heed such advice. She developed quite an intimacy with the family which (I'm sorry to say it) culminated in something of a scandal, by which she alone was injured." I recalled the porter's strange reticence about his sister, and his warning words about the Lord and his son. What exactly had instigated her sudden desertion from her post? I longed to know more, but Mrs Marsh quickly obviated that possibility by saying, "We will not go into particulars, and I ask that you do not concern yourself with discovering them. Suffice it to say, it will be in your own best interests if you keep your attentions focused as much as possible on your young charge."

At this mention, I quickly seized upon the subject, relieved to divert the conversation to something less mortifying. "Pray tell me, who  _is_  my charge?" I asked. "And when shall I meet them?"

"She is Miss Clarastella, a little girl of four years," Mrs Marsh replied. "You will meet her tomorrow."

"A...and..." I faltered awkwardly, "...to whom does she belong?"

Mrs Marsh seemed to weigh her words for a moment. "That," she said at length, "is not something I am presently at liberty to answer. It is enough to say, that she is to be  _treated_  as if she were Lord Malfoy's own daughter, and—mark this carefully—she has been brought up to understand as much. You, Miss Granger, will see to it that she continues to understand it. You would also be wise to curb any curiosity you may develop around the subject, and certainly not listen to the idle tattling of the servants; in the past there have been dismissals over lapses in discretion."

"Oh! I...I see. Thank you for forewarning me."

"It would be remiss of me not to." She seemed again to regard me thoughtfully, then, in a much-altered tone, she gently added, "Do not worry yourself overly, Miss Granger. If you are as you appear—that is, a humble and sensible person, not given to flights of fancy or immoderate inquisitiveness—you will do very well here."

I nodded demurely. But the truth was, I hardly knew  _what_  sort of person I was, for indeed, I had never before been at liberty to discover it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Hello, lovely peeps! Thanks for your feedback on the previous chapter, I really appreciated it :D  
> Just in case anyone is interested in listening to a narration of this story, I've begun to record and upload an audio version on soundcloud. Chapter One can be found at this location:  
> /rosie-posie-315945231/audio-narration-the-governess-chapter-one
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter! Always love to hear your thoughts. Love, artful

 

* * *

...

After we finished tea, Mrs Marsh announced that she would presently show me to my room.

"It is on the far-side wing of the floor above," she said, as she handed me back my robe, "but we must take the stairs. No-one excepting Milord can Apparate within the house or gate's perimeter—not even his son. However, you will soon learn your way around."

I followed her out of her parlour and gasped with dismay as I realised my trunk, reticule and bonnet were nowhere to be seen. Before I could exclaim on their disappearance, the housekeeper informed me of their whereabouts. "Your things have already been taken to your room, Miss Granger. I left instructions with the house-elves to assist with your luggage whenever it arrived."

"By house-elves!" I asked, my curiosity most piqued by the mention of these creatures of which I had only ever beheld the briefest glimpse. "Then there is more than one belonging to this family?"

"There are several," she replied, locking her door with a concise flick of her wand, and beckoning me to follow her around the corner, leading down another long corridor. "Though you will rarely see them—indeed they are not  _fit_  to be seen, ugly, ragged little beasts..." Her shoulders shrugged, as if the mere idea of them caused her disgust. "...But, of course, they have their uses.  _They_  are not bound by the magic which prevents us mages from Apparating, and so they may fetch and carry things about which do not call for elegant service."

I made no reply, but privately I felt a little repulsed by her tone of contempt as she spoke of these elusive magical beings, for which I had always felt something of a strange sympathy and even affinity. I hoped one day to speak with one, although I knew that, as an outsider, I would have little reason to do so.

About half-way along the corridor we passed two doors standing opposite each other; Mrs Marsh told me that one lead into the baking room and the other into the kitchen-garden courtyard which I had seen from the window of her own room. Soon we approached the end, coming to a door which opened to another of Mrs Marsh's deft wand-movements. "And  _this_  is the Main Hall, Miss Granger," she announced as we crossed the threshold.

I stopped short with a cry of wonder, transfixed to the spot with utter amazement.

Never in my life had I beheld such magnificence! Every surface seemed to gleam with luxury and splendour, from the chequered marble floor underfoot, to the heavy, many-tiered chandelier suspended from the ceiling far, far above. An enormous staircase dominated the centre of the room, set between twin balusters of intricately-scrolled mahogany, and carpeted with a dark-green Kashan runner of intricate design. The stairs lead up to a ' _mezzanine'_  from which point it divided in twain and continued up in opposite directions, carrying one onto the balcony of floor above.

"Splendid, is it not?" Mrs Marsh's voice beside me brought me out of my awe-struck paralysis.

"I...I've never seen anything so grand," I replied, hardly knowing where next to look—at the beautiful paintings entirely covering one wall; or the back panels of carved oak, depicting famous hunting scenes, betwixt which a huge door was set; or the two open archways flanking the stairway, promising to lead to a lighter, airier room—the vestibule, I presumed.

"The late Lady Malfoy did much to improve the interior," the housekeeper continued, evidently pleased by my astonishment. "It used to be quite as gloomy and gothic inside as out; but as you see, everything has been refurbished in the modern style." She sighed sadly, gazing about as if indulging a fond memory, and her voice and expression softened as again she spoke. "Milady had the most exquisite taste and natural elegance, matched only by the perfection of her beauty...But the brightest candles always extinguish the soonest."

Not having known the lady of whom she spoke, I could only nod in silent sympathy, and though I should have liked to ask how she had met her early demise, my discretion kept me in check.

At length the housekeeper stirred and moved to the foot of the staircase. "Come, Miss Granger," she said, recovering her usual business-like tone, "there is much more to show you on our way."

I hurried after her, alighting upon the grand staircase with another pang of insecurity, wondering for the umpteenth time how I— _I, Hermione Jean Granger, orphan muggle-born_ —had come to be in such a place.

Mrs Marsh paused on the  _mezzanine_ , waiting for me to catch up. Then she gestured to the left-leading stairway. "There's no need for me to acquaint you with  _that_  part of the house," she said, "for it only leads only to the Guest Suite, and to some of the family bedrooms." She spoke lightly, but I sensed something in her tone, harking back to her earlier words of warning.

"Does the family have guests very often?" I asked, wishing to deflect from these unspoken implication.

"Oh, yes; quite regularly," Mrs Marsh replied. "There is a small party of visitors now: the Lord and Lady Greengrass with their two daughters." Then, seeing the look of worry on my face, she added with a smile, "However, they depart tomorrow and you won't be required to meet them."—For which I was exceedingly relieved.

I followed the housekeeper up the right-leading flight of stairs, my excitement growing with each step. We gained the landing, and I was surprised to be met at the top with a row of arched windows which looked down onto a courtyard below—not the kitchen-garden that I had seen in the servant's wing, but a beautiful rose-garden encircled by narrow gravel pathways and hedge-rows shaped into intricate, geometric patterns, in the centre of which stood a white 'courting bench' of ornately wrought iron.

"That is the Rose Courtyard," Mrs Marsh told me. "It contains some of the rarest specimens in the world...another legacy of My dear Lady." Then, pointing out two tall windows on the opposite side, she added, "You may see that your room has a direct view down upon it."

I swallowed down sigh of disappointment. So I was not to have an ocean-view, after all...

Mrs Marsh then directed my attention to a closed door on the adjacent wall. "That room is Milord's personal office," she told me. "You may be required to report there from time to time, should he wish to speak with you about your duties."

I cast an alarmed glance at the imposing slab of polished wood, wondering what lay behind it—could it be a room crammed with dark objects and forbidden books? But then I chided myself for imagining something so unlikely. Even if the rumours of Lord Malfoy's proclivity for the Dark Arts proved true, surely he wouldn't display them in his  _office_.

Mrs Marsh now moved past me, beckoning me to follow her along the landing, the courtyard on one side of us and the great staircase on the other. At the end of the landing we reached a wooden balcony overlooking the Main Hall, off which a new corridor branched.

"Here is the way to—" Mrs Marsh stopped mid-sentence, her brow furrowing, and for a moment I wondered if she were suffering a sudden pain. However, in the next moment, she withdrew a small compass-like instrument from a chain concealed in her bodice, which appeared to vibrate whilst emitting a high ringing sound, like a tiny chiming bell.

"You must excuse me, Miss Granger," said she, having glanced at the tiny object and passed her fingers over it, silencing it. "I am summoned by Milord. Will you stay here until I return, please? I shan't be long, and if I am detained I will send a maid to show you to your quarters."

"Of course, ma'am," I said, surprised by this news, since I had so recently seen 'Milord' out and about in his coach.

"You may wait in this room," she said, swiftly moving over to, and opening, a door in the balcony panelling which I had not even noticed. "There are seats, and a fine prospect of the countryside to enjoy." So saying, the lady hastened away back down the stairs, and I fancied I could hear voices coming somewhere from that direction.

Afraid to be caught loitering by a passing servant or family member, I timidly stepped into the chamber.

It was a spacious room, wide rather than long, decorated in a charmingly baroque style. Three windows framed the outside panorama, and, recognising the view of chequered fields and forest, and the odd tower-like house belonging to Squire Lovegood, I was at last able to orientate myself.

Not daring to wander too far into the chamber, lest Mrs Marsh suddenly appear and think me unduly curious, I sank down into the closest seat to await her return. It with a large 'bergère' armchair, with such high arm-rests that I felt almost swallowed up by apricot watered-silk.

I had not been sitting for half a minute when I was alarmed by a sudden disturbance coming behind a door at the far-end of the room. A moment later the door swung open, and two figures—a handsome young gentle-wizard, expensively (though somewhat foppishly) attired, and an alluring young witch, dressed in the latest Paris fashions—burst through in a tumult of masculine whoops and feminine giggles.

To my horror, the pair began to rush and tumble about the room in a shockingly immodest manner, seemingly engaged in a game of "Catch And Kiss". Despite her many little screams of protest, the young lady received her paramour's salutations with as much enthusiasm as he delivered them.

I was certain that the wizard must be Lord Malfoy's son, Master Draco, for indeed he had the same sharp, high-bred features of the wizard in the coach (except of a finer, more epicene stamp) and the same white-blond hair, though cropped rakishly short.

I felt I  _ought_  to make my presence known, and yet to do so seemed utterly impossible. I dared not reach for my wand to attempt a Disillusioning charm, lest the action itself alert their attention to me. Frozen in my seat, I sat in an agony of anticipation, awaiting certain discovery, as the pair advanced closer and closer to the seat in which I cowered.

However, this was prevented by the young man proceeding to trap and pull his sweetheart forcibly down upon a ' _méridienne'_  chaise-longue, kissing her with such violent passion that I feared he might actually hurt her. Indeed, I heard the lady begging him to stop, lest they be discovered, to which the careless rake merely laughed and declared his preference for the "danger of being caught."

I had almost decided to intervene on behalf of the lady, when I was stopped by the sound of her voice, half-angry, half-laughing, but by no means distressed.

"Unhand me at once, Sir!" she cried, as her attacker pressed his avaricious lips now to her heaving bosom. "Or I swear I shall tell my darling little sister about your faithless behaviour!"

"The devil you will," replied he, "unless you wish me to enlighten your fiancé about  _yours_."

The witch laughed tauntingly. "That  _would_  be impolitic, since he's the better dueller."

"T'would be your own loss," he wickedly replied, "since  _I'm_  the better lover."

It was all I could do to stifle my gasp at such wanton impropriety—nay, such degeneracy. But my indignation soon turned to alarm as I suddenly heard the brisk steps of Mrs Marsh treading across the wooden balcony.

In something like a madness of anxiety, hardly knowing what I was about, I sprang from my seat and rushed over to the entangled couple, warning them in an urgent hiss that the housekeeper approached.

The wizard, taken thus by surprise, lost hold of his captured prey, who wriggled out of his embrace and fled from the room the way she had entered.

A surly scowl crossed the features of the young man, who jumped up and rounded on me, looking as if he should like to strike me for my interruption of his amorous sport. But before either he or I could speak, Mrs Marsh emerged in the doorway.

"Ah, Master Draco!" she exclaimed, quickly joining us in the centre of the room. Her voice was pleasantly polite, but I was knew her sharp glance must observe his extremely-rumpled and aggravated appearance and my own manifest discomposure. However, with deferent discretion, she only said, "I see you have met Miss Granger, Sir."

The wizard continued to glare balefully at me. "Through no design of my own, I assure you," he said, discourteously implying that it had been  _mine_.

"She is Clarastella's new governess, Sir," the gentle-witch supplied.

At this, the young man's expression changed, transforming from anger, to momentary surprise, settling into a sneering amusement. " _Is_  she?" he said, bending a little forward, as if  _nearly_  to make a bow, but in actuality to quiz my appearance, inspecting at his leisure my practical poplin dress and brown robe, my tightly-plaited hair and plain features.

Perhaps I ought to have been intimidated by him—certainly, it seemed as if he  _intended_  I should—but his rudeness served only to inspire me with mutual contempt. Despite his being the first aristocrat of my acquaintance, and a handsome young wizard at that, I thought him an insufferable churl and a gross libertine. And so, instead of quailing before his stare, I calmly returned it.

Something of these thoughts must have expressed themselves in my eyes, for his own narrowed and the petulant scowl returned.

"What a drab little dormouse it is!" he declared, straightening up with a sniff. "Where  _did_  you manage to dig her up, Marsh?"

Without waiting for a reply (for which there really could be none) the young man turned on his heels and stalked out of the room, slamming it after him with such ill-grace that I turned away to hide an amused smile from Mrs Marsh.

She, supposing me extremely offended, murmured, "Miss Granger, though it is not my place to apologise for the words or actions of those whom I serve, I will mention that the young master has somewhat of a... _complex_  nature and volatile temperament. Rest assured, he behaves thus to everyone—excepting, of course, his father. ...However, we must make allowances for his being young, and for having lost a parent so early."

"Indeed," I murmured. I deigned not to remark that I, who was surely younger and had lost  _both_  my parents, was not given to such insolent behaviour or immoral conduct. As it appeared to me, the young man had been afforded far too many 'allowances' than was good for him.

Following the Mrs Marsh out of the room, I soon recovered my excitement as she informed me that the corridor branching off from the balcony led directly to the nursery wing, which included my own quarters.

"Your chamber has been very comfortably fitted up," she told me as we walked down the long, but well-lit, stone hallway. "It is a spacious  _boudoir_ , known as the Rose Room, for its pretty view onto the courtyard."

Soon we came to the end of the stone corridor, meeting with a wider hallway sumptuously appointed with wooden panelling and red carpets, and warmly lit by a surplus of lamps in brightly-polished sconces.

"The nursery is there," the housekeeper gestured to a large door at the far end of the hallway. Then she pointed out a door opposite us, with panels prettily carved with snowdrops, sea-thrifts and asters. "And that is Miss Clarastella's room," she said. "She is with her Aunt today, but you will meet her tomorrow." A few more steps brought us outside another door, this one carved with roses. "And now we are come to your chamber, Miss Granger."

Stepping over the threshold, I found myself standing inside a most elegant room. It was large, modern and airy, letting in a good deal of light through the tall windows, and decorated in a pleasing palette of pastel colours, appointed with tasteful furniture and graceful accessories.

My trunk, reticule and bonnet sat at the end of a large canopy bed, spread with a pale-green quilt embroidered with pink roses, and surrounded by gauzy pale curtains in a matching design. Compared with my tiny, dark, sparsely-furnished bedroom at my Aunt's house, it seemed like something from a fairy-tale dream.

"Oh! But how charming!" I exclaimed admiringly, almost able to forget my disappointment that there was not a sea-view.

Mrs Marsh smiled. "I think it one of the pleasantest rooms in the house," she agreed. "Another of My Lady's personal projects. I trust you will be very comfortable here."

"I am sure I shall," I replied, moving over to the window to look down upon the Rose Courtyard from the opposite direction than I had previously glimpsed it from the landing of the Main Hall.

"Well, you have only to ring, if there is something wanting." She showed me a bell attached to a long velvet rope, hanging near the bed. "A maid will be summoned if you pull that rope," she said.

"A...human maid?" I asked tentatively, wondering if I might get my chance to speak to a house-elf after all.

"Of course," Mrs Marsh replied quite sternly, as if I had broached a vulgar subject. " _All_  our maids are human, Miss Granger; the elves are not to be counted among the staff. They take directions only from the Master and, by his permission, from myself."

"I'm sorry," I said, blushing for my ignorance. "I know so very little about how a grand house such as this operates."

The housekeeper nodded, her expression softening at my embarrassment. "You will learn," she said. "I will assist you wherever possible, although in truth I have not many hours at my own disposal. But if you have any questions or concerns you may usually find me in my parlour."

"Thank you, ma'am," I replied. "That is most kind."

"You may take the rest of today to settle in," she continued. "All the rooms in the nursery wing, except Clarastella's, are open for your perusal. You may wish to look through some of her lessons and acquaint yourself with contents of the Nursery before you meet her tomorrow."

"I will be sure to."

"Dinner will be brought to your room at six this evening, and breakfast tomorrow at seven. Your duties will begin in the Nursery at nine o'clock. ...Does everything so far appear to your satisfaction?"

"Perfectly, ma'am."

Once again, a tinkling bell chimed from within the confines of her bodice, and the housekeeper hurriedly withdrew the little golden instrument and silenced it. "I must leave you again," she said. "But you know where you may find me, if you encounter any difficulties—although I do not anticipate that you will."

We curtseyed, and the housekeeper moved to the door. Pausing on the threshold, she turned and said, "Ah; just one last thing, Miss Granger. I would advise you at this stage to keep private the particulars of your...heritage. At present, only myself and My Lord know that you are muggle-born, and it is perhaps for the better to keep it that way." She curtseyed once more and added an affable, "Good day!" before she swept from the room in a rustle of silk.

I wandered over to the bed and sank slowly down upon its yielding depths.

My hands felt oddly cold and my face very hot. A strange feeling had arisen within me at Mrs Marsh's parting words, a kind of wounded shame and acute self-disgust. So...my tainted blood must be kept secret,  _"for the better."_  It was  _better_  that no-one else knew my disgraceful lineage. No-one, but Mrs Marsh...and the man of the silver eyes and cruel reputation. My master.

I gazed at the wall for some time, until I was brought out of my reverie by a tap at the door, followed by a rustle of paper as a small envelope flittered beneath the doorway and settled upon my lap. I opened it up and discovered a piece of stiff card, upon which was written a brief message, in an elegant and unmistakably-masculine hand.

" _Lord Malfoy desires an interview with Miss Granger in his office, at her earliest convenience."_

…

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N I felt so bad about not giving you *any* Lucius action in the last chapter, that I typed this one out in a total frenzy of guilt! Your support and encouragement really are so wonderful, every review is absolutely precious to me (not to mention extremely motivational!).
> 
> ...So, I promised Lucius, and here he is! I wonder how the first meeting between them will go...I've warned him not to do anything ungentlemanly like tying up the new governess or making her cry, so hopefully it will all go just swimmingly.
> 
> Hope you enjoy this one, lovelies! If you do, remember to review :)  
> xox artful

...

I gazed at the note for some moments, an odd, tight sensation developing in my stomach.

" _Lord Malfoy desires an interview with Miss Granger in his office, at her earliest convenience."_

My pulse flurried with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. I, to see him, so soon? So ill-prepared?

I sprang to my feet and hastily removed my robe, then, espying in one corner a white, mirrored dressing table, I advanced toward it a little apprehensively. Above all, I wished to appear before my employer neat and composed, but I was afraid that this morning's adventures must certainly have disordered me.

With a pang of dissatisfaction I viewed my reflection: my hair-plaits were frayed and my dress crumpled from the journey in the Porter's cart.

Did I have time to change? What was meant by, "at my earliest convenience"? Ought I drop everything and hasten to Lord Malfoy's office? Or might I take a little time to make myself more presentable?

Supposing tardiness to be a lesser evil than unkemptness, I hastily took my wand from my dress pocket and cast a light steaming spell over my skirts. The poplin fabric—a muted shade of  _caerulean_  blue—relaxed, and the worst creases smoothed out.

" _Accio reticule_ ," I murmured, catching the draw-string bag and emptying it upon the gleaming surface of the dressing table, then selecting from amongst its scattered contents a little ivory comb. Loosening my braids, I tamed my curls as best I could, then carefully replaited and secured them.

I was about to turn away, when my eye caught upon my charm-extended box of potions and essences. Quickly snapping open the lid, I took out a small vial of Rose Essence, and dabbed a little on my wrists and at my temples, as a kind of makeshift  _Eau de Toilette._  I had never worn any scent before, for my Aunt had deemed it both frivolous and immoral. ...I wondered what had got into me. Why should I care so much for what impression I made at this first meeting with my new employer? What was it, that caused me to sigh at my "drab little dormouse" appearance (as Master Draco had so kindly put it), and to wish I were a little—just a very little—prettier?

I shook my head at my foolishness and turned away from my reflection. In truth, it mattered not  _how_  I outwardly appeared, for nothing could mitigate the inherent taint of my blood. Although perhaps it was for this very reason that I  _did_  care so much.

Crossing the room, I opened the door then slipped out into the hallway and began to retrace my steps back towards the central part of the house.

Without Mrs Marsh to accompany me, the Manor seemed to take on a more forbidding aspect, despite its modern fittings and furnishings. The corridor joining the Nursery wing to the Main Hall appeared longer and darker, and its stone walls and great flagstones revealed something of the original gothic gloom of the house.

As I emerged upon the wooden balcony and beheld that imposing mahogany door at the end of the landing, I experienced a thrill of dread, such as I never had before. Something about those eyes, connecting with mine through the coach window, had deeply perturbed me, and with each step taking me to meet the man to whom they belonged, my heart thudded all the louder within me.

I paused outside the door and attempted to calm my excited nerves with a deep, steadying breath. Then I raised my hand and timidly knocked, rather wishing than hoping that there would be no answer from within.

"Enter."

The response was immediate, and again I was beset with wild palpitations. With trembling fingers, I turned the silver handle and pressed open the heavy door.

At first I did not see the room, nor its contents. I did not even notice the deportment or dress of the figure awaiting within—my eyes were drawn as if by magnetic force to his eyes alone...those strangely captivating silver irises, glittering like ice, rendering all else an indistinct blur...

I knew not if I curtseyed, although I suppose I must have.

"Good day, Miss...Granger, I presume?"

At the unexpected silken softness of his voice I blinked, drew a breath, and everything came into focus at once: the sumptuous room and imposing furnishings, the enormous windows looking directly over the sweeping front lawn...and the man himself, as equally grand and imposing, standing in an elegant aspect near a great unlit fireplace, with one arm leant upon its marble mantlepiece and one booted foot resting on the lowest rung of its brass grate.

Lord Malfoy was dressed in a suit of black Jacquard-woven silk, comprising a double-breasted frock coat and trousers, and a silver waistcoat elaborately embroidered with a pattern of delicate green vine-leaves and lilac speedwell. From his shoulders flowed a cape of supple dark velvet, trimmed in black fur, which contrasted vividly with the sheet of blond hair that spilled over it. My inner seamstress immediately discerned and admired the exquisite tailoring and expensive cloth, even while my muggle-born inferiority shrank from such an overt example of masculine beauty, wealth and resplendence.

There was a pause, and of a sudden I realised that I had not yet made a reply, and that those piercing eyes were bent on me still, with something of an expectant expression upon his haughty features.

"Y-yes, Sir—I—I mean, My Lord," I stammered, the flush on my cheeks deepening at the unfamiliar shape and sound of this noble title on my lips. "...Good day." I dropped my eyes to fix upon the hem of my dress, wondering how I could face the son's impudence with tolerable equanimity, yet quailed within mere moments of encountering the father's cool courtesy.

"Won't you please sit down?" he said, gesturing gracefully to a seat on one side of a huge walnut desk that dominated the middle of the room.

I moved over to the chair and sank down upon it, glad to be supported by something more stable than my trembling legs. The wizard likewise approached the desk and stationed himself oppositely, in a high wing-backed chair of green tufted leather.

For some moments he impassively regarded me, his jeweled fingers lightly drumming upon the surface of the desk. Then at length he spoke. "Perhaps you are wondering why I have requested to speak with you, so soon after your arrival in my house."

"I had no time to wonder that," I blurted, then felt my stomach lurch with panic at how pertinacious such a reply might seem. But a hasty glance at the wizard only showed a polite smile on his sharp, aristocratic face.

"Just so," he replied urbanely. "I make no apologies, but I will give an explanation hereafter. However, I should first like you to answer some questions. ...You don't  _mind_  my asking you questions, do you, Miss Granger?"

"No...no, of course not," I replied, trying to sound unconcerned, but in truth somewhat alarmed. "Please, go ahead."

Lord Malfoy looked rather amused at this, and once again I realised I had blundered. Of course he would ' _go ahead'_ , whenever he pleased.

"Miss Granger, what do you know of myself and my family?"

The question surprised and confused me. I had expected he would ask questions about  _me_ , not about himself. "V-very little," I said, seeking refuge from my confusion in the simple truth. "That is, I know the Malfoys are an ancient family of pure blood and high rank...and that you are one of the Noble Lords of the Magic Realm. ...I know that you have a son and a d-daughter" (I stammered a little, recalling that I did not exactly  _know_  this for a certainty) "and that your wife passed away many years ago."

I could not tell his expression, for my eyes were fixed firmly on my fingers, laced tightly upon my lap.

"Is that all you know?" he murmured.

"I...I believe so," I replied. "...All else is but idle gossip."

"Ah, do you make a habit of listening to idle gossip, Miss Granger?"

"No," I said, looking up from my hands to encounter his level, gleaming gaze. "But one cannot always help  _hearing_  it."

There was a sardonic quality to his smile as he murmured, "I'm afraid you are right." I supposed he himself must know of his reputation as a cruel and dangerous man, and a practitioner of the forbidden arts...but only  _he_  knew how much was truth, and how much wicked slander.

"My housekeeper mentioned that you had already met my son... Pray, what did you make of him?"

I felt my spine stiffen reflexively with dislike. "I did not presume to form an opinion," I said.

At the sound of his chuckle, I stared up at the noble-wizard. "Very diplomatic, indeed!" he rejoined. "Most tactful—if not most truthful. Never mind; I do not always prize truth above rhetoric."

My cheeks burned at this sting, but I swallowed the angry retort bubbling inside me.

"But you look chagrined, Miss Granger. Do you think me unfair? Please, speak freely."

"Yes," I said, rather hotly. "I do. Perhaps I should have said, 'I  _dared_  not presume to form an opinion'."

He nodded, the smile lingering on his lips. "I understand you. You mean, you believe you are not at liberty to admit to having any opinion at all. However, allow me to assure you that it is not my intention to lead you deliberately into difficulty. You may answer my questions honestly, and 'dare' to form as many opinions as you please, without fear of repercussion from giving them voice. I give you my word of honour."

"Very well, My Lord," I murmured, privately thinking that, just because he  _gave_  me his word of honour, did not necessarily mean I could  _trust_  it.

"Then let me resubmit my question. I am genuinely interested to know your first impressions of my son. ...Did you not think him exceedingly handsome?"

"Yes; I suppose so," I replied.

"Only 'suppose so'?"

"I meant, certainly. He is very handsome indeed."

"He looks very like his mother," he said, without evident emotion. "She was a famous beauty."

 _'He looks very like you,'_  I thought, but of course I did not say so aloud.

"And yet, I sense you do not like him. Was he insolent to you?"

"...I am led to believe that he...he behaved in a way entirely customary to his nature."

"Another stroke for diplomacy! Well done, Miss Granger; although you might as well have answered, 'yes'."

"'Yes', then," I said, then bit my lip at the challenging note in my voice.

"And what of my house? Do not you think it grand?"

"I have never seen anything grander."

"No, I don't suppose you have...I'm told you hale from Turningstone village. A very quiet and proper little place. Did you have a very quiet and proper upbringing?"

I was almost certain he was mocking me, though his voice and countenance remained scrupulously courteous. I supposed I looked the very epitome of a 'quiet and proper' young female, the very opposite of the dashing and fascinating witches with whom he would be used to associating. With as much dignity as I could muster, I replied, "Yes, I did—for which I shall be always thankful."

"As you ought to be," said the wizard loftily. "It is rare that a muggle-born is given such."

I flushed at this first mention of my blood-status, and my eyes dropped once again to my hands.

"May I see your wand?"

I was startled by the request, but could see no way to refuse it. With some reluctance, I fetched it from my skirt pocket and handed it across the desk. The wizard took it from me and leisurely inspected it. It was very strange, to see my stubby little wand held by those long, bejewelled, aristocratic hands. "Hmm, red oak..." he said, balancing it on his fingers, then testing the flexibility of the point. "Rigid and fairly blunt. And the core?"

"Unicorn hair."

"Did this wand choose you?" he asked me.

"No," I replied. "It is second-hand. My Aunt gave it to me when I turned eleven. I think it belonged to a deceased sister."

"If I may?—" Without explaining  _what_  he may, or awaiting my permission, he held it up and murmured, " _Prior Incantato_." My wand emitted a faint trace of light in the shape of the last spell I had used—the summoning charm I had cast on my reticule. His lips pursed slightly, then he placed the wand on the desk. I wondered why he did not give it back to me.

"Tell me," he said, levelling his enigmatic gaze on me once more, "do you remember your muggle parents?"

"N-no..."

"You do not sound quite certain of that."

"I remember my mother's voice, singing to me," I admitted. "But I cannot remember anything else."

"Do you know how they died?"

"I am told it was a muggle disease called Cholera."

"And as for  _yourself_ , Miss Granger, you need say nothing. I can guess your history. ...You manifested symptoms of magic from a young age, and were accordingly taken out of a muggle orphanage and put into one for magical muggle-borns; after which you were adopted by a respectable gentle-witch who undertook your private education. ...Is not that your life, as they say, 'in a nutshell'?"

"I believe so, My Lord."

"Ah, quite the classic  _'histoire pathetique'_ , as it were. Most plausible and pitiful."

I was silent.

"You make me no answer, young lady. Why?"

"Because I think you mock me, My Lord."

"Do you?—But you're quite wrong." He pushed his chair suddenly back and stood up, reaching into his frock-coat to produce a slender wand of pale elm, twice the length of mine, with some kind of silver mounting at its hilt. "I do not mock you..." he said, "...I  _suspect_  you."

I had not time to process these strange words, before the wizard made a concise swipe with his wand and muttered, " _Incarcerous._ " A coil of thick ropes shot out from the tip of the baton to lash about my body, tightly binding my arms and legs to my chair.

"What are you doing?" I cried, struggling against my bonds in utter confusion and rising panic.

The wizard smiled, but it was a wintery and cruel expression, bereft of its urbane charm. His eyes were as glittering and as hard as diamonds.

"I shall cry out!" I warned, as he moved around the desk and advanced toward me.

"There is no need, if you co-operate," he replied coldly as he approached, his wand brandished before him.

"What have I done?" I gasped, wondering if perhaps his son had told some despicable fib, in order to preclude my revealing the scene I had witnessed between himself and his  _paramour_.

"That," replied Lord Malfoy, coming to a standstill before me, "is exactly what I wish to establish."

"You—you g-gave me your word of honour—"

"I gave you my word," he overrode me, "that you needn't fear repercussions for answering me honestly. To that, I hold. Indeed, it is all that I require from you."

He stood, towering over me as ominously as his Manor towered over the countryside. He seemed to be inspecting me as if I were some oddity, some puzzling object that he had yet to decipher. "...You do not much look like a fearful adversary in clever  _masquerade..._ " he muttered softly, "...but looks can be deceiving. Perhaps the  _most_  deceptive disguise is the appearance of innocence and sincerity."

This all seemed as unintelligible to me as if he spoke in some foreign tongue. I felt my eyes prickle with tears of shock and fear. Had he gone suddenly mad? Had  _I?_

"Miss Granger, for whom do you work?"

I stared up at him with confusion. "...For y-you, My Lord," I stammered. "I am to be Clarastella's governess—Mrs Marsh employed me—I have the Indenture Retainer in my room!—I will fetch it for you if you unbind me."

The wizard gazed with icy impassivity into my eyes. "What do you know of this morning's attack?"

I shook my head. "Attack? Do you mean, in Tredraconis?—the-those men who attacked me in the Inn?"

Lord Malfoy frowned. "No," he said sharply. "Do not trifle with me, girl. You know to which incident I refer."

"There has been some mistake!" I exclaimed, almost beside myself. "I do not understand you!"

He pocketed his wand, then suddenly bent over me, placing his hands on each side of my temple. I shivered, my heart thudding wildly, and my throat so constricted with clawing fear that I couldn't have screamed for help if I tried. I could not tear my eyes away from his, the glinting silver seemed to freeze and lock my pupils in place, while the light touch of his fingers scorched my skin. A subtle scent of expensive cologne coiled around me, and I began to feel rather faint, overwhelmed and stifled by terror and by the proximity of the wizard standing so closely over me.

"Please..." I whispered. "I'm only the governess."

"We shall see..." he murmured.

And then the dark pin-points of his pupils expanded, and I think I cried out, for it seemed as if his gaze was somehow pouring down through my eyes and into my mind, sifting through my thoughts, my feelings, my memories, latching onto certain moments, lingering over more recent events...my grief, fear and loneliness at my Aunt's passing...my desperate search for a new position...my subsequent relief at Mrs Marsh's offer...

"Stop, I beg you!" I pleaded, but the wizard ignored my feeble struggle to break away from his uninvited intrusion, and calmly continued to peruse and inspect...this morning's humiliating altercation with the two wizards...my warm gratitude to the young porter...my encounter with young Master Draco...

Then I felt him probe at the periphery of my nervous excitement upon being summoned to meet  _him,_  and my foolish application of the Rose Essence as a makeshift perfume—and my mortification became so acute and overwhelming, that I could bear it no longer.

" _STOP!_ "

It was a tormented shriek; nearly a scream, and something within me seemed to burst in an agony of fury; there was a flash of blinding brightness, and the wizard was thrown backwards against the desk, while my bonds dropped away and disappeared.

I staggered to my feet and ran, my eyes blinded with scalding tears. But before I could gain the door, Lord Malfoy seized hold of my wrist and stopped my flight. "Wait—wait—"

"Let me go!" I cried tempestuously, ready to do violence to him or to myself if he subjected me to a moment more of unbearable intrusion. "I will not stay a minute, not a  _second_ , longer—I will not endure such insult, ever again!"

"Please, Miss Granger—"

"—Let me  _go_ , I say!"

The wizard caught my other wrist, and trapped both hands together, but his grasp, though strong, was devoid of brutality. "I implore you to calm down," he urged, "or you will do yourself some injury."

His voice was sincere and his words beseeching, and at length I became less wildly distraught. "Let me go," I repeated, my voice choked with tears.

"I will, once you are calm."

Realising that my only means of escape would be through compliance, I desisted my futile struggles and swallowed down my sobs, though my breast still heaved with anguish. After some moments Lord Malfoy must have deemed me mistress enough of my emotions, and released my wrists. Taking a step back from me, he held out his hands, open-palmed, to show me that he intended no further harm.

"Will you take some water or wine?" he asked me, with an appearance of genuine concern. "You are very distressed, I'm afraid you may faint."

"No," I said, forcibly containing the fresh spring of tears that threatened to burst from me. "I am...quite well. Only, I wish to leave this house, and never return."

"That is understandable," the noble-wizard replied softly. "But will you permit me to at least explain, if not excuse, my behaviour, first? I implore you to hear me, then you shall be free to stay or go, as you please. If you choose to leave, I will see you are paid your full first quarter. ...Will you allow me this one concession, Miss Granger, before you positively decide to flee?"

I regarded Lord Malfoy warily, considering his words. He sounded sincere, he _seemed_ sincere, but in truth I knew not what to make of his extreme changefulness. My instincts warned me to leave with all possible haste, but my curiosity was piqued to hear his excuses.

"I do not want any pay I have not earned," I said, lifting my chin with a display of cold dignity that was not much in congruence with my violently-trembling body. "But I will hear you."

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Poor little put-upon Miss Granger! What a day this has turned out to be! Blondie better have a good excuse for such ill-mannered treatment! I TOLD him not to tie up the new governess and make her cry on the first interview, but would he listen to me?! What a naughty boy :D
> 
> ...Love to hear your thoughts!


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